


Patience Rewards Itself

by Hey_Lady



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Character Bashing, Child Abuse, Crossover, Grey Harry, M/M, Murder, Not Totally Crazy Jim, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-02-11 19:51:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 57,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2080986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hey_Lady/pseuds/Hey_Lady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian Moran's job was simple this time; 'fix' Vernon Dursley. He was prepped to do it. He had no problem doing it. That is, until he sees an unidentified boy with no record of existence at the residence thrown out of the home. Thus, Harry Potter gains an (admittedly unconventional) family, Jim gets a protégé and Seb just hopes that Harry won't wind up quite as...off as his Dad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Patience was something that Sebastian Moran was not born with, but something he'd learned in his time as a gun for hire. 9 times out of 10, the job only came with a name; maybe a location, if he was lucky. Few times in his life had Sebastian ever been given a routine that his targets followed, which meant an untold amount of time watching and waiting and planning. Patience was the only virtue that Sebastian possessed, and it was self taught.

After being hired as James Moriarty's personal bodyguard/sniper/nanny-patience was something that definitely came in handy-especially when dealing with Jim's more unstable moods and tendency to change his mind-however, even his patience has limits; watching a lower-upperclass suburban business waddle around his routine for over a week is enough to make even Sebastian lose his patience; give him a criminal mastermind with a penchant for deadly games and a changeable personality any day. What he cannot stand is following some fat slob by the name of Dursley around as he goes through what must be the most mundane existence since forever.

Sebastian isn't sure what the Walrus did to warrant a hit, through his boss nonetheless, but it isn't his business, and, frankly, he doesn't care. It was his own fault for admitting to Jim that he was beginning to get bored in London; Jim didn't like to know that others were bored, that he could suffer from the same problem as 'the little people', and this was his punishment. Sebastian knew that, at least, it was good time off to relax in a relatively safe environment, if nothing else. So, he did what he was paid to; he scouted out and did recon. He walked the neighborhood, altering his clothing a bit every time, adjusting his posture-he knew how to subtly appear different, so no one would alert the authorities to his presence. That particular day he had on a baseball cap, a T shirt and jeans.

He supposed, from an objective point of view, Little Whinging, and Privet Drive by extension, was a pleasant place to live, even if he wouldn't choose to live there. It was a simple, upper Middleclass, lower upperclass suburban neighborhood-all the houses were well to do, the lawns mown and taken care of with attention that is disturbing-what makes Sebastian's skin crawl (and what would make Jim take a couple dozen cans of gasoline and a few matches to it) is that Privet Drive has no originality whatsoever. All the nice houses, and yards, and garden all look the same-the cars themselves are one of two types; either belonging to a business or navy blue.

As far as his jobs go, this one started safe, but boring.

That changed on the second week of his stakeout. At exactly 8:15 in the morning, a young boy exited Number 4, a boy that Sebastian couldn't readily identify. Sebastian went over his information again-Vernon Dursley and his wife had a 7 year old son named Dudley, enrolled in the local public school. There was no record of a second child. But this kid clearly lived here, so where did he come from?

Like always, Vernon Dursley exited the house at 8:20. By then, the boy was kneeling in the flower beds-but the way that he shrunk from the large man as he passed spoke volumes. Narrowing his eyes, Sebastian watched the boy keep his eyes on the car as it backed out of the driveway, and drove down the street, only relaxing when it was out of sight. This made Sebastian pause.

The boy had a pale, pinched face; pale and pinched from hunger, if his stunted size was anything to go on. He had messy, untamed dark hair, and overlarge glasses sliding down his face. He might have been a pretty child, had he not been so under cared for, wearing hand me down clothes at least 4 sizes too big. He had a very awkward way of moving, less of a gait, more of a shuffle. Someone, and Sebastian only said it sarcastically, had been hitting him.

He watched as 30 minutes later Petunia exited with Dudley, the only listed child at the residence, their son. Petunia Dursley was a tall, horsey woman with little grace. She had a very waxy complexion, and thin blonde hair. Dudley looked like Vernon, save for his blonde hair, although the texture was his father's. He watched, morbidly interested, to see how the other members of the family treated the boy.

As they walked past, Dudley aimed a forceful kick right into the boy's ribs, sending him sprawling into the dirt and the rose bushes. Sebastian had had far worse, but he knew that it would be painful, particularly for an underfed child. He waited to see what Petunia would do to reprimand the little monster. He'd expected it, but was still surprised to see, that she simply smiled dotingly at the fat child, and turned to look at the unknown boy with an expression similar to what you'd turn on something unpleasant underfoot.

It was Thursday; that meant that Dursley will have caught rush hour traffic- he won't make it to work before 9:30. He'll disappear into his office until noon, when he'll go out for lunch-there's a pastry shop down the street that he favors. He would return at 1:30. He won't leave work until 5:30, and get back by 6:15. He knew Vernon's schedule like the back of his hand; he can afford to observe the kid for a day-it's additional recon, he told himself. Besides, this kid was interesting (and not Jim's kind of interesting; where either the subject was dangerous, or his reaction to it was violent).

Seb waited until Petunia and Dudley had driven off before he crossed the street. The boy worked very hard-he took his time, and obviously knew what he was doing-impressive for a child. Seb stopped on the sidewalk, 4 ½ feet from the boy, and waited for him to notice his presence.

It took less time than Seb would have suspected, no more than 15 seconds. The boy didn't make much of a move toward him, but he didn't shuffle away either, merely turning emerald eyes on him suspiciously. He regarded him warily, but with more trust than his own guardians; that spoke volumes. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, my name is Paul Strauss, I'm considering moving into number 17, just down the road. I couldn't help but notice your flower beds, Mr…?" Sebastian smiled-careful that it wasn't too bright, or to small-perfectly forgettable.

"I'm Harry Potter, sir. And they aren't mine, they're my Aunt Petunia's." Harry responded; he'd often wondered what made them hers. Aunt Petunia never worked in the garden, only picked out it's contents, leaving Harry to do all the work. Despite this, she always got the credit-everyone paid homage to his aunt, leaving Harry forgotten in the cupboard.

"Your aunt isn't up and working on them at 9 in the morning, now is she? Which reminds me, why aren't you at school?"

"I…er…" No one had ever noticed the days that Petunia and Vernon kept him home from school to do his chores (or, likely they chalked it up to delinquent behavior, never mind that he did all the yard work while 'skipping'). "I'm home schooled." Sebastian nodded.

"Your roses are lovely, does your mother help you?"

Harry shook his head. "My parents are dead. I live here with my aunt and uncle," he explained. Sebastian noticed the fact that he didn't answer the question, but left it there.

"I see. Well, I should be getting on, then. You have a good day, Mr. Potter, I'm sure that we'll meet again soon." Sebastian tipped his cap, and walked away, not failing to notice the stunned look that he got from the boy.

* * *

 

Sebastian Moran couldn't get little Harry Potter's face out of his mind's eye. He spent that day, and the next, watching the boy, and how his relatives treated him. He did not like what he saw; how his 'family' lived up to and surpassed his expectations. He may not have been a genius, but Sebastian was clever; he knew what he saw, knew how to connect the dots.

He watched, furious, as Petunia Dursley returned home at noon and verbally tore him apart on the front lawn, finishing this by grabbing Harry by the back of his hair and dragging him into the house. He saw later as the boy exited the home with a bruised jaw. He saw as Harry worked in the sweltering heat of the day in heavy clothes meant for winter, until his sweat had practically soaked him. He saw many more things, being kicked by his uncle, screamed at again by his aunt, and, that night, thrown into the cupboard beneath the stairs (seen through the flimsy lace curtains from across the street). This sealed their fate; Sebastian did not have morals, but this was to disgusting for even his standards.

Sebastian had enquired around the neighborhood about the Potter child and had been surprised at the stupidity offered to him; the general consensus was that the Dursley's were "a fine, upstanding family. Very polite and well to do, their dinner parties are divine, Petunia's cooking is quite impressive (Sebastian had seen that Petunia didn't cook a damn thing all day- everything had been done solely by her nephew, and he was willing to bet that he was the one making the meals for their guests). Dudley's a strapping young boy-high spirited, that's all he is, he'll soon grow out of it," but on Harry, their attitudes had changed drastically, "little trouble maker he is. Often cuts classes, stays home all the time. Fights with his cousin, has horrible grades. Dursley's are doing him a kindness- took him in after his parents died in a drunk driving incident. Raising him the best they can. Petunia and Vernon warned us of course, compulsive liar; said not to believe a word from his mouth." They were blind to the abuse, obviously- these were the perfect example of people that Jim couldn't stand.

Harry Potter had no allies; he was being abused by his relatives-said relatives spread rumors of being a liar and of fighting, effectively blocking any way out by asking for help. He regularly stayed home, making teachers suspicious. He had no one on his side. No open doors.

Sebastian decided, then and there, that he would be the one to open a window.

* * *

 

Sebastian killed the Dursley's on Saturday night (around 3); they spent Sundays in, and no one would notice the absence for a day after that. This gave Sebastian til Tuesday at the latest; it took an hour without traffic to get to London. Roughly 47 hours to make arrangements for Harry Potter; either convince Jim to do something, to cover for him, or to call in a favor from one of his contacts.

Cold blood killing, close and personal, that is, is a technique that Sebastian doesn't prefer to use; it's too personal, there are too many ways for something to go wrong, and he doesn't have as tight a control on his emotions when he's just stabbed someone, or, in this case, slit the throats of 3 people in their sleep. Especially these people.

There were no stars in the sky that night, and had Sebastian been poetic in nature, he might have found something ironic in the lack of a moon; the only light came from the streetlamps. Dressed in durable black, with leather gloves and a black cap, Sebastian made his way to the back door, where the only lock was a deadbolt. Seb had a stack of stolen credit cards for this very situation- he slipped the card in the crack between the door and the frame, and pushed in, then _up_ , forcing the deadbolt lock back, and the door open, letting Moran into the silent kitchen.

It was all steel and metal, shining and clean-very modern, and the domain of a boy with no voice. He considered burning the building to the ground as well, but ultimately decided against it- the neighborhood was too populated, it would take too much time. He moved on through the kitchen, carefully toeing off his shoes and walking by the cupboard his, soon-to-be, ward, was imprisoned. Seb made no sound as he went up the stair, one at a time, again with absolute silence and caution-one creak, one misstep, could either wake Harry, or his targets.

No one ever called Sebastian Moran forgiving; and the only thing left to decide, as he stands outside the master bedroom, drawing his bowie knife, how to kill them. Precise as a surgical instrument? Or clumsy, a first time killing? In the end, making sure his fingers trembled, Sebastian strode into the room and locked it behind him. He cut Petunia and Vernon Dursley's throat from ear to ear. The pain is almost unbearable, he imagines, as their eyes shutter open with the waterfall of crimson that cascades down them and onto his front. The clutch at their throats and gurgle wetly, but Vernon loses consciousness almost as fast as it came. Petunia manages to stumble out of bed, but tangles her feet in the bed sheet, and hits the ground with a heavy 'thump'. She does not get up again. Dudley's death is much the same as his father, save for a brief glint of fear, and even a tear slipping down his cheek. Sebastian does not like him, but he closes his eyes out of respect anyway; the boy never had a chance, not with parents like Vernon and Petunia.

Sebastian gathers some clothes and even a few toys for Harry-he also takes the jewelry in Petunia's jewelry box, and all the legal documents from the safe beneath their bed (the combination is their son's birth date).

Sebastian wasn't as careful coming down the stairs as he was going up; he heard movement from the cupboard, and prepared himself for whatever he might find.

The door was padlocked, with a single vent for air- as cruel as that was, even that small blessing could be closed. Sebastian picked the padlock with no trouble, not even bothering to catch it when it hit the floor. Instead he took a calming breath, and opened the door.

Harry was crowded into the cupboard, pulling himself into the corner, away from the open door. There was almost no space in the little cupboard, but Sebastian got a full look at his living arrangements; a small, threadbare dog bed, and a ragged blanket. There was a bucket in the corner, and a single bottle of water. Several broken toys were on the shelves among cleaning supplies and neatly folded clothes. Most disturbing of all, though, is the sign, written in emerald crayon taped to the door, reading **Harry's**.

"Hello, Harry." Sebastian said quietly, scooting back a bit; close enough to catch the boy if he tried to run, far enough to give him some space.

Harry squinted at him for a moment before recognition bloomed on his face. "You're the man from before!" He whispered, "the man who talked to me about the flowers. Paul." Sebastian nodded, deciding now would not be the time to inform him of the minor deceit. "Why are you here?"

"Would you like to leave here, Harry?" Harry looked at Sebastian, floored. Leave Aunt and Uncle? Why would Sebastian want him?

"I can't."

"Would you like to? I can arrange it. I need your answer, now." Sebastian said levelly; they had plenty of time, but he didn't want to be here for long if he could help it.

"Where would I go?"

"With me. I'll find you a place, a _home_. I swear it." Sebastian held out a hand to Harry. Sebastian Moran was not a empathetic man, but he was sincere in this. He would take him, or find him a foster home, or someone to adopt him, even. He would find somewhere for this boy to go, with or without Jim's help. All of this shone in his dark eyes for a moment-just one brief moment. Harry saw it (Little neglected Harry, who'd never known a kind look or word, who'd been taught since birth that he was unwanted and unnatural and not worth affection, and now the child who'd never known but wanted seized this opportunity with both hands) and took Sebastian's hand without hesitation.

Sebastian pulls the boy from the cupboard, nearly supporting his weak, emaciated little body.

(Years later, Harry will smile and hug his father, telling him, _"it was like being born again.")_

* * *

 

Sebastian stole a couch pillow and a spare blanket from the Dursley's and made up a makeshift bed for Harry in the backseat of his (stolen) car. The boy had fallen asleep almost immediately, not making a sound and not moving as Seb drove the deserted highways. He drove for 45 minutes before stopping and buying a box of saltines, several large bottles of water, and a pack of jell-o (he debated about a popsicle, but decided that it could wait until they got to the townhouse).

Because it's London, they hit traffic, and are in a gridlock for nearly 3 hours more than Seb calculated. Harry had woken up an hour before reaching the house, and gratefully began to devour the procured food, until Seb scolds him gently ("You need to eat slower, Harry, or you'll sick up all over my car." At the frightened look the boy gave him, Seb quickly assured him that "everyone gets sick, but I'm not in a position to do anything about the mess is all. You'll still be staying with me for a bit."). It's during this waiting period that Seb informs him that his first name is actually Sebastian. Harry took it in stride; it certainly wasn't the first time that a grown up had lied to him.

Harry was almost certain that this was a dream, that he'd wake up in his cupboard again to Aunt Petunia's shrieking. He was terrified of it, and, had he not been so sore and bruised, he would have pinched himself until he was in that state anyway. Sebastian was intimidating, but not quite like Uncle Vernon. Uncle Vernon was scary because he was so big, and used his size to intimidate and hurt Harry. Sebastian, unlike Uncle Vernon, was muscled and powerful, and could definitely take on Uncle Vernon- but he was nice. He didn't smile, precisely, not with his mouth- Mr. Sebastian smiled with his eyes. Harry trusted him.

The London morning of that first day was grey and misty, but, to Harry, he'd never seen a day more lovely. And he told Mr. Sebastian so. Mr. Sebastian smiled with his eyes and shook his head.

"Just wait til you get interested in the ladies. You'll rethink that statement." Harry shrugged and stared out the window; he'd never been to London, and he was fascinated by the chaos and monochrome color scheme.

Sebastian hadn't meant to get attached to the brat (he meant it affectionately, honest), just save him.

But, as he pulled up to Jim's current (and favorite) little bolt hole, he worried for the boy he'd taken into his care. If Jim didn't want him near (and there was a great chance of that), he might order Harry to be 'fixed'. Sebastian, despite his loyalty to Jim, wasn't positive he could do such a thing to the boy who smiled so carefully, just because he was fed and talked to like a human being.

However, he was Sebastian Moran. He had faced battle head on and conquered fear without mercy. He did so now, quelling the growing hesitance with an iron fist, he put a gentle hand on Harry's shoulder as the boy climbed out of the car and onto the sidewalk.

"Is this your home?" Harry asked hesitantly, suddenly shy.

"Yes. Come on, then." He led the small boy up the steps and unlocked the door.

Had he been a religious man, Sebastian would have prayed.

As it was, he simply hoped Jim wasn't in one of his moods.

 


	2. Chapter 2

James Moriarty was a man who loved surprises.

That morning, eating leftover Chinese takeaway (despite what Sebby believed, he knew how to cook. The food just always came out burnt is all) and dressed, for once, in casual sweats and a T shirt (advertising a concert from 5 years ago), he heard the front door open with a resonant 'snick', and knew that his Tiger had finally come home. Finishing the last bite of almond chicken, he stood up and tossed the carton into the trash. He didn't miss Seb, not at all; but the sniper was certainly useful to have around the house, even just by acting as a sounding board when the thoughts in Jim's head were too much. He made his meals and cleaned up after him, and could read Jim's moods as easily as a sailor read the weather. And certainly it was appreciated to have someone who accepted his volatility and ethics (or lack there of), and expected nothing from him.

So no, Jim didn't miss Seb.

He was just getting up to greet him because he felt like it, was all, and it was no one's business that he walked a tiny bit faster to do so.

Seb locked the door behind him, and Jim gave him a slight grin. When Seb didn't return it, he got suspicious and narrowed his eyes.

"Is it done?" Jim asked, not concerned, but…suspicious. Yes. Seb always completed his errands, he had absolute faith in him, but something in Seb's face was different.

"Yeah, look, boss, I…" Seb closed his eyes and hoped (read: prayed) that this didn't end as horribly as he'd been fearing in the last 30 seconds. Instead, he went out on a limb and stepped to the side, revealing Harry.

Jim blinked, honestly surprised. Sebastian had returned from his errands in all states; at peace, furious, neutral, even pleased. He'd returned with new memories, injuries, scars, sometimes covered in gore, and occasionally toting along a new souvenir- never a souvenir quite of this nature, though.

Why the bloody hell did Sebby have a kid with him?

Jim sneered at Sebastian, who didn't look away. "Harry," he said quietly, and the boy looked at him, "this is my employer, Jim. Jim, this is Harry." Harry didn't know what to think of Jim-something in his eyes reminded him of the wild cats that occasionally strayed to the neighborhood; they would allow you to pet them, play the part of the house pet, but only to get what they wanted. But Mr. Sebastian seemed to trust him…

Jim's dark eyes flickered to Sebastian; Seb knew from experience that he wasn't feeling homicidal, at least not yet. He had time, an opportunity, to explain himself and what he'd found, why he'd saved the boy. He crouched beside Harry and said, quietly, "Harry, I want you to go into the kitchen and sit at the table please. If you're hungry, there should be a banana or something of that nature. Sit at the table and don't move yes? Down the corridor, the door on the left." Harry, conditioned to following orders, did so without question, carefully skirting around Jim.

This paused the oncoming storm of Jim's temper, just a bit. He turned to look at the boy more closely, and blinked when Harry flinched away. The grimness in his eyes faded, replaced instead by cold understanding.

When the kitchen door shut behind him, Jim turned back to Seb, and said, firmly, "explain."

Seb didn't look away from Jim, and began to talk. "Dursley had him in the house; in my file, there was no information on him. I couldn't find any birth certificate, a social security number, nothing on him. The local school he went to doesn't require a birth certificate or documentation, just a guardian's signature. According to Harry, Petunia was his mother's older sister; he was left there after his parents died in a car accident."

"Let me guess," Jim said, crossing his arms, "you've looked into it?"

"There are no records of a fatal car accident in the time frame that Harry was left there. I looked into Petunia's records, she had a younger sister named Lily, but past the age of 11 there is nothing. There's no record of marriage, of graduation, or anything about her. It's like she vanished."

"No proof of death?"

"No." Jim nodded, that _was_ interesting, but certainly not enough to take the boy from his home. It was beginning to make sense, but he waved Seb on. "No. There is nothing. They make him miss school, often- they tasked him unreasonably. He mowed the lawn, weeded the garden, cleaned the house- he did nearly everything, despite his size."

"Overtaxing a child isn't enough for you to remove the boy from his home, Sebby. The rest of the story now, if you please." Jim began to circle Seb in the narrow hallway, much like a wild animal.

But then, that was Jim. Jim would always do things his way, no matter what society expected of him- he had clawed his way from the dirt. He was corrupt, he was his own man- secure in his knowledge that what he was, while not normal, was simply _James Moriarty_ and anyone who had a problem with that could go fuck themselves. Seb knew this with all his heart, and he had no illusions about Jim. He didn't care.

Of all his employers, Moriarty, for all his tricks and deceptions with everyone else, not once had Moriarty lied to him personally, or masked his intentions.

_So, this was the infamous Moriarty? The little upstart that had all the bosses of the underworld nervous?_

_Somehow, he had expected someone taller. Not some little Irishman in a snappy suit and a smile like the sharp edge of a blade._

_"What is it that you want from me, Mr. Moriarty?"_

_"Oh please, call me Jim. What I want Mr. Moran, y'know, that's ridiculously stuffy, I think I'll call you Sebby! Anywho, I need a killer, Sebby, and I hear that you're the best in the business."_

"They beat him, Jim. They beat him, starved him and locked him in a cupboard. They called him a freak." Seb hissed, noticing the way Jim's eyes narrowed. No one else would have noticed, but Seb did, and continued talking. "I've talked to him, sir. He's bright- he wants to learn, he drinks in any attention you give him. He'd be anything you could want. Just...if you won't let me take him, help me find a place that will." And that was all; cards on the table, bottom line.

Jim tutted. "You always were a bleeding heart when it came to children, Tiger." Jim closed his eyes, allowing scenarios to play out like a film before his eyes, finally seizing on the best. "There are no witnesses?" Seb shook his head. "The boy's cousin won't talk?" Seb closed his eyes and Jim raised an eyebrow, "the boy too? My, my, it must have been quite the house of horrors!" Jim chuckled, before patting the taller man on the shoulder. "I'll take care of it, Seb."

Seb felt relief flood him, but only nodded, keeping his face carefully neutral. This was more than he could have hoped for; Jim was taking Harry under his protection. That was the safest place for the boy to be; not only could Jim arrange anything, he could smooth this over.

Harry was a good kid, even Seb could see it. He was good, he was eager to please, and he was smart, despite his spotty education. For all that, he was soft- he had no armor to protect himself from the world. Jim could fix that.

"Sebby, what's his name again?" Jim asked suddenly, his eyes lighting up.

"Harry. Harry Potter." The light in Jim's eyes didn't die- in fact it got brighter, and he seemed almost gratified. A wide, dangerous smile bloomed, before Jim threw back his head and laughed like a madman.

It lasted for some minutes, before it died out, the grin remaining. Jim patted Sebastian on the shoulder.

"Congratulations, Sebby; you just brought me a protégé and the most valuable bargaining chip of the wzarding world, all wrapped up in one little boy!"

* * *

 

Jim Moriarty's mother was a bitter woman in life.

Dione Moriarty nee Black despised her muggle husband and had little interest in her son from birth until the age of 6, when he first inquired about magic. She retreated into the bottle when Jim was small and never fully came out of it. She spent her days either tipsy, blatantly intoxicated, or nursing a bitter hangover. As such, she had never been in a position to protect her young son from his father's fits of rage, or to counsel the boy into learning healthy ways to channel his boredom and aggression. Dione was the youngest sister of Orion Black, and a squib. Had she possessed any trace of magic, she knew that she would have been highly prized; not only was she from the Ancient Noble House of Black, she was beautiful to boot, and (though this point could be argued), she was fiercely intelligent. By the time that she was 11 years old, her parents had disowned her.

Dione had married the muggle William Moriarty, a factory worker, and had been trapped in a life of hard work and suffering. By the time that Jim was born, she had lost all interest in everything and spent most days in bed, mourning the life that was her birthright.

Jim remembered sitting at his mother's feet, covered in bruises (given by a heavy handed, staunch Irish catholic father), and asking her to teach him about magic.

It had been the first time that she'd ever smiled at him; Dione had a beautiful smile. The years of sadness and injustice melted away from her in that instant.

Dione had taught Jim about the culture that he should have been born to. They came in bursts and erratically, but she told him everything and his greedy mind devoured every word and historical fact that she knew. It never occurred to Dione that, perhaps, her own son could have the magic that had bypassed her- or, perhaps it did, and she had been to jealous of the thought to act on it. Jim, almost never sentimental, liked to think it was the first. In either case, Jim had never been tested for magic- later, he wouldn't care; he didn't need magic.

Jim didn't need magic to build his web, although he had several wizards and witches under his payroll to keep him updated on the goings on in the world of magic; all of them were muggle born and had difficulty assimilating in the world they had been raised in. It turned out that for all Hogwarts promised, it had taught none of the classes that the non magical world valued- no math, sciences, or English. For muggle borns who couldn't get a job in the magical world, this had been a death sentence, as they were stuck working minimum wage jobs, mostly under the table. They didn't care what the Ministry bothered to do- any bit of money helped out.

One of the biggest pieces of news Jim had gotten 6 years ago was the fall of the Dark Lord to an infant by the name of Harry Potter. Dione had told Jim about Voldemort's beliefs; while she personally didn't believe in them, she couldn't comment on them because of her life, although her peers had worshipped him. Harry had been spirited away by Dumbledore to some unknown location as the MoM struggled to regain control.

And now it was all coming together.

* * *

 

Harry had eaten two bananas while Mr. Sebastian and Mr. Jim talked. He took care to eat slowly and carefully, like Mr. Sebastian had said to do, wondering about what they were talking about, and what it was that Mr. Sebastian and Mr. Jim did for a living to earn such a comfortable house in London. He was no judge, but some of the pictures that he passed in the hall looked quite expensive, as well as the furniture, even if it didn't quite match up.

He rather liked this kitchen; it wasn't quite as modern as Aunt Petunia's- it was a comfortable mix of the old and new, with wood and marble. It wasn't warm, per say, but it was much more comfortable. Even in here, the place seemed rather mashed together- the table and the chairs weren't from the same set, although the counters and cupboards were of the same design, it all looked secondary. It was a nice touch.

Harry swung his feet and looked around, wondering about things.

He wondered why Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had finally given him up, and for what in return. For all that his relatives complained about him, and threatened to give him away to an orphanage, he had sincerely doubted that they would; who else would do the chores? Hard working Vernon? Delicate Petunia? Dudders? They wouldn't have given him to Mr. Sebastian without prompting, or without getting something in return. Money, maybe? And anyway, why did Mr. Sebastian help him? He wasn't worth it, he didn't think- he'd asked for help at school, knew that it wasn't right for his only family to treat him the way that they did, but nothing ever came of it. Adults who had looked concerned when he'd spoken to them, had either forgotten by the next day or accused him of lying (those were the ones that had called on Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, and those nights were the hardest, because he'd been a bad freak and had told).

Maybe Mr. Sebastian just needed a houseboy.

No, he said he'd help.

Everyone has a different version of _help,_ his mind hissed.

But he didn't think that Mr. Sebastian was lying when he promised to find him a home. And then there was the fact that he'd been so nice-he'd even fed him!

When Jim and Sebastian entered the kitchen, Sebastian was still shell shocked; Magic? Magic existed, and the boy was a wizard. Dear God, what had he gotten himself into? When had his life become so complicated? Of course, Jim was careful to only give him the basics, but it was still a lot to take in.

Jim smiled at Harry, who ducked his head shyly. He couldn't help but chuckle slightly at him, before pulling out the chair opposite him and sitting down. He turned to Sebby and waved him away, "go clean yourself up or something Seb, we'll talk later." Seb could only nod numbly before leaving. A shower was what he needed- time to calm himself in private.

Harry watched him walk away with some interest before his lips thinned.

"Got a question, Harry?" Jim asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, what's wrong with Mr. Sebastian? He looks look he's going to be sick." Harry pointed out; Jim grinned. The fact that Harry could read a person that well meant good things; pointing out something as innocently as he did sounded simple, but was not. Seb had quite the poker face; the only signs of his distress were the slight pinching at the eyes, and a slight pallidness that made his scars stand out.

"I broke him." Jim shrugged.

"Oh. That seems awfully mean." Harry said timidly, and Jim rolled his eyes.

"There's something you need to know about that, Harry." Jim leaned in close, and Harry's eyes widened. "It's **fun** to break people." Harry took it in like he'd spoken the gospel, and Jim knew that this was the boy who could have been his. "So, Seb took you from the Dursley's?"

Harry nodded, "he said he'd find me somewhere better. Someplace that would want me." Jim nodded solemnly, tapping his chin in mock thought.

"What if I took you in?"

"Y-you would?"

"Of course I would! You can stay with me; I'll teach you everything that I know. You'll go to school, get to learn. Or, in any case, the best tutors." Jim leaned back, pleased as the boy followed him, arms on the table, leaning forward, just like he had a moment ago. Body language really revealed a lot about people; this revealed that he had Harry hooked. "You'd never have to do those awful chores again, never have to miss a meal- or punished like the Dursley's punished you."

Jim could see it; saw that yearning for acceptance, for _everything_ that he wanted-from family to knowledge.

As alien as it was, Jim wanted to be the one to give Harry everything. He wanted to teach him the secrets of the world; teach him how to spin his own webs, the secrets of the trade. This boy could be his son, they looked so close in appearance. Maybe that was where this feeling was stemming from. Frankly he didn't care. He wanted this boy, but he wouldn't force it.

"D'you...I'll stay. If you want me, that is." Harry admitted, quietly, looking almost surprised when Jim reached out and ruffled his hair.

"Great! First things first, I need to make a few calls. Can you keep yourself occupied in here for a bit?" Harry nodded numbly and Jim retrieved his cell phone, dialing first the physician he had on his payroll and then a few other people to be on the Dursley investigation.

* * *

 

**Thursday, April 17th, 19****

**_The Whinging Gazette_ **

_Gruesome Discovery in Suburban Neighborhood_

_by Sean Penn_

_It was discovered on Tuesday morning that one of our own, a family native to Little Whinging that is, was murdered in their own home in cold blood. The Dursley family, of Number 4 Privet Drive, was discovered by Ms. Arabella Figg, a next door neighbor, who went to check in on the family after seeing no activity in almost 3 days. "It had me worried," Figg admitted to officers, "you could set your watch by the Dursley's." The family, consisting of husband, Vernon, wife, Petunia, and son, Dudley, were found murdered in their beds, throats slit._

_According to neighbors, the Dursley's were well liked in the neighborhood, and will be sorely missed._

_According to investigator Perkins, head of the Surrey police station, one member of the household was spared the brutal massacre; the Dursley's 7 year old nephew Harry Potter. Potter is at this time missing; anyone who knows anything is instructed to contact the Surrey Police._

* * *

 

Albus Dumbledore wasn't present when the wards in his office activated, letting him know that Harry Potter had left the Dursley's property. He wasn't even in the country- he was at an international meeting of Light wizards; a visit which consisted of swapping spells (which Dumbledore didn't do, instead listening and taking note), drinking tea, and eating entirely too many pastries (an activity that Dumbledore gladly took part in). By the time that he returned a week later, the alarm and the wards had stopped sounding.

By this time, Harry Moriarty (Jim, because he wasn't comfortable with calling him Dad yet, had said to Harry, "you can pick a new name, if you'd like." Harry had shaken his head. His name was the only thing that he had from his parents, and said so. Jim had shrugged and said, "suit yourself." and Sebastian had given Harry an encouraging eye smile) was being started on a nutrition regimen to bring him up to a healthy weight, as well as working out a tutoring schedule.

Sebastian watched as Jim, who could almost be described as eager, showed Harry the Pythagorean theorem that night, and the brilliant smile when the boy understood; not a grin, not a sneer, but a smile. He decided he rather liked it when Jim smiled, and promised to see it more often.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have nothing against Irish Catholicism; but as Jim is Irish (I googled it), probability points to him being raised Catholic. I'm not bashing on them, but 'spare the rod, spoil the child' and all that bullshit that excuses child abuse. And if you don't believe that Moriarty was abused than something is seriously wrong with your head.
> 
> Y'know, I actually got into an argument with a teacher of mine. In my history class (my class didn't have to take finals so we spent the week hanging out, talking bullshit, you know), we were discussing movies, specifically Disney and kid movies- pointing out stupid stuff. I said, "Harry Potter is an abused child," and 9/10's of my class was like, "yeah". My teacher goes, "no he wasn't."
> 
> What the hell does the kid need to do? Hold up a sign like the coyote from Loony Toons (his name is Wile. E. Coyote; I know)?! 
> 
> I accept that we, when writing on the subject, tend to embellish the facts of Harry's canon abuse. I know it, I do- hell, I'm doing it in this story. But the fact is that there are multiple instances in canon where Harry was hit, or struck by his relatives, and then there was the freaking cupboard- that alone would have warranted an investigation from CPS. Anyway, it's got me worried; if a teacher can't spot abuse that is clearly laid out like a road map, then what the hell do they look for in real life?


	3. Chapter 3

Dumbledore finally received word from Arabella Figg nearly 3 months after the murder of the Dursley's. By this time, the police investigation had turned toward Harry as a major suspect, or in the very least a person of interest; as the police were initially local, they were all aware of what the Potter brat was like- most were unsurprised and saddened that he'd done something of that nature to his well meaning relatives. The investigation probably would have gone nowhere had it not been for the arrival of New Scotland Yard- tipped off both by the brutal nature of the crime, as well as the suspicious circumstances of the boy's residence, they had been alerted by an anonymous tip.

The investigation was led by DI Greg Lestrade, who quickly noted the fact that he was out of his depth. Without further ado, he called in Sherlock. It had taken less than 10 minutes for Sherlock to shock the police, and gathered neighbors with the truths revealed; no pictures of the boy, a guest room never used, a bedroom filled with toys but without a bed, the dog bed beneath the stairs. No pictures. Harry had been spectacularly abused- other signs, easily and not so easily missed- were brought to light, as well as the fact that an undersized, malnourished 7 year old could not have killed all of his relatives so easily as the locals had wanted to believe.

A deeper investigation also revealed the lack of accurate documentation for Harry. Just where had he come from?

Unable to locate him, or to even find a picture of Harry, the police reluctantly announced the boy as likely dead, by the perpetrator of the crime, no doubt. He was missing for months, before a body matching the description turned up; or, the paperwork did. The proper documentation alerted the authorities that Harry Potter had died in a hospital nearly 50 miles away after a head injury that put him in a coma. The hospital cut the life support, but not before documenting the numerous signs of abuse and neglect.

Albus Dumbledore knew that Harry wasn't dead, despite what Arabella Figg had announced in her reports. He'd immediately checked the Hogwarts registry, only to find that his name was still there. The boy was alive, but not with the Dursley's-this was a problem. Most of his plans hindered on the boy being easy to manipulate, but the balance of probability was that the boy wouldn't know what magic was. Harry would still arrive to this world as ignorant and naïve as a newborn babe. He could still be the guide he needed to be.

* * *

 

_1.) New Home_

Harry wasn't used to being wanted.

When Jim had said things would be different, he hadn't said how much; he hadn't said that he'd get a room all to himself. A room, not a cupboard. A room that he got to pick out the furniture for, and the decorations- a room that Harry absolutely loved to fall asleep in, because it was undeniably _Harry's_. He loved the soft Four poster bed with the thick emerald comforter, he loved the bookcases, slowly filling with volumes both educational and entertaining, he loved the soft armchair in the corner, and the big oak desk.

Harry wasn't used to any of it, but most of all, he wasn't used to people just wanting him around.

Jim spent a lot of time on the phone, but he could multitask- often he'd speak on his cell and write out problems for Harry to solve with his other hand. He taught Harry about numbers, which he seemed to like, so Harry learned to like them too. Jim said numbers were everything, that with a single string of numbers, you could unlock anything. Harry didn't know if he believed this, but worked hard to please him; when he'd lived with his relatives, he hadn't liked mathematics- it had been a difficult subject to follow when he missed so much school. But now that he had someone who wanted to teach him, and make it almost fun, he excelled; it took less than two months before Harry began to see numbers as well.

Harry wasn't used to Sebastian's attention either; the man took care of him whenever he could spare, which was surprisingly often. He made Harry breakfast, or left something in the fridge for him, because Jim didn't know how to cook (Harry decided that he would teach him, but Jim had just glared at Sebastian, who laughed loudly, when Harry brought it up).

Most of all, he wasn't used to the way that Sebastian and Jim seemed to want to take care of him; when the physician showed up the day after he'd arrived and done a full physical, he'd been mortified that they'd seen how thin he was, and the scars. The physician had told them that he needed to go to a real doctor; some of his broken bones needed to be rebroken because they hadn't set correctly, whatever that meant; they also needed to contact a nutritionist about a special diet. If they were lucky, his permanent growth hadn't been stunted too badly, but they needed to make up for the nutrients that he'd been denied, and for now had to be careful with him. Harry had his eyes checked (his aunt had bought his second hand when his primary school nurse said he needed an eye exam), and received new glasses (contacts wouldn't suit his eyes, because of how they were shaped, apparently). Jim and Seb took him shopping, buying tasteful clothes both for play and for dress.

Harry slowly adjusted to the new life he'd been given; he slowly stopped having to force himself to eat slowly. He stopped sneaking food into his pockets. Slowly, he stopped shrinking away when Jim reached out to touch his shoulder, or when Seb ruffled his hair. He learned to laugh at Jim's inconsistencies, and Seb's gentle acceptance of it.

The first time he calls Jim 'Dad', Jim celebrates by making, and burning, a 3 layer double chocolate cake.

They both eat it anyway, and Harry thinks that it might be the best meal he's ever had.

(In Seb's room, there's a deep burgundy photo album, bought shortly after he'd brought Harry to London, and in it are pictures that he's taken since he had the sense to do so, the very day after Harry arrived. The very first picture within it is of that dinner, with Harry smiling at the camera, his face covered in chocolate frosting.)

* * *

 

 _2.)_ _Nightmares_

Harry suffered from nightmares for months, but Seb was most often the one to comfort him.

He would wake up screaming and sobbing, and Seb, who had never truly snapped out of battle mode and still had the reflexes from his years in military combat and as a mercenary, would wake up to it in more of a panic than he would ever admit. The first time it had happened, he had burst into Harry's room with a hand gun. That had scared the boy into further hysterics. Jim had entered the room and they managed to calm him down with calm reassurances and several mugs of hot chocolate.

Harry suffered from dreams of bright green light, or else he dreamed of life back at the Dursley's, where they locked him in the cupboard under the stairs and never came to get him.

"It's scary when I first wake up, because it's so dark in my room, and I think all this was a dream, and that I really am in the cupboard again." Harry admitted once, before he started sobbing again. Seb put an arm around his shoulders and said it was alright. Seb stayed up with the boy until he fell asleep again at nearly 4:30, by that time Seb just couldn't go back to sleep- but he was still exhausted, and instead struggled to stay awake.

When he told Jim about the nightmare in the morning (over a cup of black coffee, or 4). Jim said nothing, merely stood up from the table and left the house, despite Sebastian's questioning inquiries about his destination. Jim returned an hour later and said nothing, so Sebastian forgot about it.

That night however, Harry entered his room to find several nightlights plugged in and brightly lit.

* * *

 

_3.) Uncle_

It isn't often that Severin hears from Sebastian. It's better for the both of them, all things considered; Severin went into politics like their father had wanted, had a prestigious seat, but Sebastian was a criminal- even though he was Severin's younger brother. Admittedly, they do try to contact one another once a month, but never before has Seb deliberately sought him out and told him to meet up.

He wonders if maybe something has happened to Sebastian's employer, who he only knew by Jim. Sebastian probably wasn't aware of it, but Severin had noticed the frequency that Seb spoke of Jim. His baby brother might not show affection, but he certainly felt it for people- usually without being aware of it himself. He wondered just how long until he acted on it.

Either way, Severin sat down in the restaurant that Sebastian had given him instructions to and picked up a menu as he contemplated his younger brother.

"Hey, Sev." Severin smiled and turned to look up, only to be met with emerald eyes at about table height.

A small boy stood next to Seb, watching him curious, faintly frightened, eyes. Opening his mouth, the boy ducked behind his brother, who sighed. "Sev, this is Harry. Harry, this is my brother, Severin." Severin smiled at Harry, who returned it politely, but still looked rather frightened.

The pair sat down, and Sev watched amusedly at the subtly tender was Seb acted towards Harry. He was caring, but not nagging, reminding him, quietly, to say thank you to the server who took their drink orders- and the boy looked at his brother with total awe. Little things were the most interesting- the quiet way Sebby would suggest this or that dish ("that one's too heavy for you stomach yet, Harry", "that isn't quite as healthy as it looks"), the way Harry looked to Sebastian for confirmation with anything he'd said.

"So, illegitimate son?" Severin asked while Harry used the loo, and the brothers had a moment of privacy.

Sebby snorted and looked around for a waitress, Sev knew that this was just a stalling tactic. "No, he's my ward. Well, sort of; he's Jim's...apprentice, and one of my new tasks is to look after him." Sebastian shrugged, but Sev raised an eyebrow.

"I don't know why you try and lie to me, little brother. You care about him, obviously. Now, what was the point of bringing us together?" Sebastian actually looked nervous at this, so Sev mentally prepared himself for whatever his brother had done.

"I...Jim's got Harry calling him 'Dad' now," Seb began, very quietly, "he's even slipped and called me father. I don't mind!" He was quick to assure, reading the look on his brother's face, "but the fact is, if he wants us to be a family, he needs to accept that he has an uncle. I want him to get used to you, before I tell him that, though, because it's a bit of big deal..." It was at times like this that Severin thought his little brother looked like an overgrown teenager, nervous about asking out a girl.

"I take it that he had problems with his previous uncle?" Severin asked, Seb nodded. When he didn't elaborate, they continued to wait on the food in silence. The Moran family was neither vocal, nor expressive, but they knew one another well enough to just enjoy the relative peace.

As Harry came back, he gave Severin a look that could be best described as; "who are you and what are you to me". The look was so familiar to Sev because he'd seen it on the faces of others in his occupation; if the boy had developed the look this early in life, Severin decided that he'd try and get to know Harry a bit better, like Sebastian had said.

Watching Harry wheedle (it wasn't all out begging like Severin had seen, or the demands of a greedy child; it was quite the little manipulation) Sebastian into letting him have dessert after breakfast only confirmed it; his new nephew would make quite the politician.

* * *

 

_4.) Meetings_

It was difficult to get used to having a child sit in on the meetings. But Jim managed it, and even the few associates who'd ever seen his face got used to Harry; he'd either sit in the corner playing quietly, or doing anything without noise, or sitting near Jim, listening to every word.

Like everything concerning Harry and Jim, it happened entirely by accident; for the first month of his staying with Seb and Jim, Seb had taken minor assignments in London, and Jim had put off all meetings and anything that could take him away from his new son. Harry had often spent an hour or two by himself in the parlor. However, one afternoon he entered quietly, like Harry did everything, and discovered Jim speaking with several men and one rather imposing looking woman. Harry had moved to close the door, but the movement had caught Jim's peripheral.

"Ah, Harry!" Jim turned back to the others and said, in a voice that both made Harry feel very safe, and very afraid, "I trust my son's staying in the room won't be a problem?" All of those present were quick to agree. Jim smiled at Harry encouragingly, who swallowed nervously. "Come on in then, just be quiet while we talk, yes?"

"A-alright." Harry said, slinking past the group into his usual corner.

He listened to Jim's voice as he read his book, _The Art of War_ by Sun Tzu; Jim had bought it for him on their first outing to the bookstore, and Harry had been reading it dutifully; he still tripped over some of the words, either their pronunciation, or their meaning, and he had a bit of difficulty with some concepts, but he got most of it, Jim had been pleased to note to Seb. He wondered what it was that Jim did for a living to get all this money, because he knew that everything his new father had given him wasn't cheap- all of his clothes were well made and durable, their food was organic (he knew this because Sebastian had told him so one morning while he made breakfast and Harry helped- not because he was _made_ to, but because he _wanted_ to), and Jim had a lot of pretty things in the house.

These meetings became a way for the two to spend time together; Harry never knew the details of the meetings, but he paid attention to most things and parroted what he'd learned when Jim's guests left them alone, escorted out of the house by Seb.

* * *

 

_5.) Accidents and Friends_

The first time that Seb witnesses Harry's accidental magic, it's minor, but Sebastian almost had a heart attack anyway.

They're at the park, on one of Seb's rare afternoons off, and Harry's on the swings. Seb gets him started, pushing him as high as he wants, before letting him swing on his own.

It's a bright day in summer, the park teeming with children and color- the grass is emerald, the sky is cerulean, with white puffy popcorn clouds. It's like something straight out of a book. Seb, ever vigilant, scans the people in the crowd for constant danger. There is nothing but parents with children, nannies, the occasional teen babysitting, or there with a significant other.

"Sebby! Watch this!" Harry shouts; that, more than anything is what makes Sebastian look at him; Harry is a quiet child by adaptation. He is respectful and polite, but he is happy. However, he never calls him Sebby, like Jim; it's always Sebastian, Seb, or, if he has an episode, Mr. Sebastian. Harry _never_ calls him Sebby; so something is making him happy, and he wants to see this. He turns and is blinded by the sight of Harry at the highest point of the swing, and the look of joy there- the suffering is all gone, and now that he's put on weight he looks like a child and not a refugee. He watches this, and then realizes in a heart stopping second what Harry is about to do, just as he does it.

Harry lets go of the swing and jumps, and just as Sebastian takes off, he realizes that he doesn't need to; Harry is falling at a speed too slow to be normal, practically _floating_ down. There's only a split second of confusion before Sebastian realizes that this is what Jim meant when he brought up accidental magic.

_"He'll learn to control it in time," Jim admitted shrugging, "but for now it's mostly instinct. He'll test his boundaries, of course, for now. Just make sure he isn't to obvious when he tests those boundaries."_

_Sebastian sipped his orange juice and saw the smile almost melt off Jim's face. "Of course, the problem is the Dursley's." Sebastian raised an eyebrow, and Jim just waves his hand dismissively. "I know they aren't an obstacle **now** , or course; the question is how much damage did they do to Harry's psyche? Obviously the abuse was partly fueled by their fear of magic, his," Jim's lip curled in disgust, " **freakishness**. Children are remarkably impressionable; the abuse he suffered may have forced him to, subconsciously, cut the magic out of himself."_

_"Can a person do that?" Sebastian asked; magic was a bit more than he understood, but he understood that he cared about Harry. He didn't want anything to affect him from the Dursley's._

_"Children do it all the time. They repress what makes them a target, and soon enough the skill in question is no longer there. In my elementary school, there was a girl who could write with both her left hand and her right- the teachers hit her with a ruler every time she used her left hand, and punished her- no recess, standing in the corner. Finally, she couldn't take the pressure and began using her right hand exclusively. She was never able to write with her left hand again- after some time she'd even forgotten she ever could." Jim almost sounded sad about this._

_"How do you know that she forgot it completely?"_

_"I ran into her a few years ago- she was a contact for a thief I wanted under my employ. We spent the night together; she remembered me, but not that she was ever ambidextrous." Sebastian nodded and chose to believe that the sour feeling in his gut was the acidity of the orange juice._

The joy on Harry's face is gone when he looks up at Sebastian'; he's so scared about disappointing him, and all Sebastian can do is lean down and scoop him up (despite putting on weight and going on the diet recommended, Harry is still small and thin; it worries Jim as much as Sebastian, because they don't know how much of it is genetic, and how much is an echo of his early life). Harry lets himself be held for a moment. At that second, there is no park; no screaming children, no crowds who might be watching. All that exists is the knowledge that his (father?) accepts him and his abnormalities.

"It's alright, Harry. I didn't mean to scare you. I promise." Seb whispers, beginning to walk toward the benches. "What you did is amazing; it's wonderful, and brilliant, but you shouldn't do those things in public. Remember what Jim and I said? The golden rule?" Sebastian prompted gently.

Harry's hands fisted themselves in Seb's jacket. "Never attract attention." Harry mumbled, ducking his head in shame. "I'm sorry." Seb petted Harry's head softly and set him down on the ground in front of him, firmly grasping Harry's shoulders-not painfully, but in a way that made Harry look up at him.

"No, Harry. You don't need to be sorry. There is **nothing** wrong with what you just did- it's special, it's wonderful, and both Jim and I are glad you have this gift. Just try not to do it in public, alright?" Seb explained. Harry liked Seb's eyes- most people didn't like to meet them, frightened by his imposing air, but Harry knew that Seb told the truth by his eyes. Harry nodded, feeling better, but gave Seb one last hug before running off to play.

Despite the attention and care, Harry still retained some reflexes from his time with the Dursley's. Like Sebastian, Harry looked for threats everywhere. He saw the imposing boys that reminded him too sharply of his cousin, all hanging around the picnic table, and steered clear of it, carefully. He noted the over attentive mothers. Everyone was on his radar, at least vaguely- including one little girl that he found rather interesting. She was seated underneath one of the trees; she was dressed primly, despite her bushy brown hair, reading a rather thick book that Harry wondered if she could understand.

He wasn't sure why, but he found himself walking over to her.

"Hi, I'm Harry Moriarty, what're you reading?"

"My name is Hermione Granger, and it's called _Return of the King._ By Tolkien."

"Is it any good?" Harry asked, taking a seat next to her. Hermione faltered, no one had ever wanted to sit by her. But the question gave her courage and she pushed on.

"It's brilliant! Have you read _Lord of the Rings_ , or _the Hobbit_?" She asked, Harry shook his head.

"No, but I will! Dad buys all the books I want; I love to read." Hermione looked as if Christmas had come early, and Sebastian, who'd watched the entire exchange, laughed and shook his head.

* * *

 

_6.) Birthdays and Acknowledgement_

It had taken time, but Jim finally decided on a birthday for his son. On August 17th, Harry Moriarty celebrated his birthday with his Dad, Seb, Severin and the Grangers. The small group was in the dining room as Seb and Jim finished up the final touches on the cake (it had been a bitter argument between them; Jim wanted to make the cake, while Seb said they should just order the thing. Eventually they compromised and worked together to make it).

Seb iced in the final touch (Happy 8th Birthday Harry! in emerald), and scooped up a finger full of leftover icing from the bowl. Jim watched the movement from the corner of his eyes and moved quickly, like a viper- Seb had barely turned around before he got an armful of his boss, who was leaning up and kissing the larger man, and getting the taste of chocolate icing as well. Sebastian wrapped his arms around Jim's waist, while Jim combed his fingers through Seb's hair, loving the soft, but bristly strands beneath his touch.

They kissed until neither could breathe, and then only drew away a bit, Seb resting his forehead on Jim's as they caught their breath.

"Well then." He breathed, Jim just narrowed his eyes and cocked his head.

"You do realize this makes you mine? I'll never let you leave us, Tiger." Jim admitted, and Seb shrugged.

"I can live with that." And Seb kissed him again.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Harry Moran-Moriarty was a special boy, and he knew it. He knew, not only because his fathers told him, but because he was the son of Jim Moriarty, and at 10 years old, almost 11, he knew exactly what that meant-even if he didn't know _exactly_ how large his Dad's empire extended. Then there was the minor factor of his being a wizard, but he didn't think that it was such a big deal. So, even though he was special, he was still a polite, respectful, if not intense, child; there was no trace of hubris or hauteur about him, mainly because he didn't need to be that way- his Dad said "knowledge is power, and power's wonderful, but you don't want to let everyone know just who they're chatting up. Knowing that you're special is enough-play your cards close if you play them at all." So Harry didn't brag.

Harry's life was heaven-even if you didn't compare it to his early one; Jim and Seb, while not the perfect role models, were certainly the best parents he could have asked for. He wanted and was given; knowledge was what he craved more than anything, and no one was better suited to sate this hunger than Jim Moriarty. Jim Moriarty was a force of nature that could never be tamed; but somehow, thanks to his husband and their son, his head was less in another galaxy, and his mental state was no longer built on sand. He had found a best friend in Hermione Granger, whom the family was almost entirely certain was a witch, though they had elected not to tell her parents; because Jim was unable to use magic, and Harry didn't know how on command most of the time (at least, not to a satisfactory level, with more or less guaranteed results), they would have had nothing to back up the claim, even if the Grangers had let them get that far into an explanation without calling the authorities.

Life was good; it wasn't peaceful, nothing with Jim could be, but it had it's own sense of safety that Harry wouldn't give up for the world.

So of course the letter arrived just when things were going so well.

* * *

 

The letter had sat there as innocuous as could be, but everyone knew what it was. No mail came to the London house directly, they went to 3 different deposit boxes, all with different names and addresses listed, and countless security checkpoints. Harry held it in his hands at the kitchen table (kitchen, not dining room, because this was a family decision, not one pertaining to business), and felt himself sneer; they couldn't even bother to make it _look_ normal-no, parchment and emerald ink, no one passing by on the street will think that's suspicious, especially not with the address listed;

_Mr. Harry Potter_

_4th Bedroom, 2nd Floor_

_397 Trinity Plaza_

_London_ _, England_

Harry saw Jim grasp Seb's hand; both of his fathers looked ready for battle, and that was the only reason that he had the courage to open the letter instead of just burning the damn thing and pretending it never showed up.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…_

Harry abruptly closed the letter and pushed it away like it would bite him. He doesn't want to go, doesn't want to leave the cocoon of safety that he has with his dads, into this unknown world that was so ready to abandon him where he wasn't wanted.

"What do I do?" Harry asked, looking at his fathers, Seb closed his eyes, and Jim licked his lips, eyes hard and unforgiving as obsidian.

Jim's thoughts were a whirlwind of forming plans and myriads of pathways, half over grown with possibilities and variables; releasing Seb's hand, he leaned back in his chair. The tension in the room was nearly solid at this point, but with the razor smile that Jim flashed them, it began to dissipate. He plucked it off the table and stood; he always thought better when he was moving.

The letter was automatic in nature, they wanted a reply, but left no way for a reply to be sent. More would come, and most likely in torrents. A guide as well. Jim breathed deeply and whirled on his heel to look at Seb.

"We're getting up early, Sebastian! We've got to catch the mail. Harry," Jim smiled at the hopeful look his son gave him, "write a letter; ask questions, I know you've got them, specific ones. Word them in a way that leaves no room for a loophole. I've got some work to do!" And with that Jim strode out of the kitchen, leaving Harry and Sebastian to wonder what he had going on in the vast caverns of his head.

Sebastian stood up as well, but instead went to the fridge.

"How about lunch?" Harry wondered if it was because of his dad's occupations that made them so adaptable, or if it was a natural setting of theirs. He wanted to emulate the calmness that they projected, despite the fact he knew they worried about him, about their way of life.

Sebastian made Harry a toasted tuna sandwich, poured him a glass of milk, and cleaned one of his smaller guns at the table; that alone was another clue to how disturbed his father was- Sebastian and Jim didn't believe in flexing power when they didn't need to. However, they did believe in readying for battle- Harry didn't need to be a seer to know something was going to happen between his fathers, most likely Jim, was about to rock the boat of the Wizarding World.

Harry washed his plate and then went to write his letter; it took him 4 drafts, 2 editing sessions and finally 1 print off before he felt that it was ready (printing it off was just a way to poke at the ridiculous parchment, though he didn't feel anything would come of it).

* * *

 

Since Harry's official adoption (official is such a loose term), Jim had actively gathered knowledge about the Wizarding World from his contacts. For the last three and a half years he'd compiled the data into several notebooks- it was from these books that he consulted, as well as his memories about what his mother had used to say about her, once, family.

Despite this, Jim feels wholly unprepared to fight. He will. He loves this family that has assembled- well, loves them as much as he can, in his own strange way.

Self pity and doubt never got anyone anywhere, so Jim won't indulge himself. Instead, he begins to dissemble his files; he circles, he jots down notes, he fact-checks and double checks everything that he can think of and can remember, and when he can't find what he's looking for in the documentation, he calls his contacts (he does not need to yell, but dammit they are stupid). Seb brings him a sandwich and crisps several hours later, only to find their bedroom in ruins; paper and newspapers litter everything.

"You're hard at work, I see." Seb teases, lightly. Jim grunts, waving his hand, but Seb just puts down the plate and walks over, careful not to disturb anything. He sits down next to his husband (they'd gotten married last year; honeymooned in Venice for a month, Harry had loved it-because of course they couldn't leave him behind) and sighs. "What are we going to do, Jim?"

"We're going to find out what they want with our son, and then we're going to beat them at their own game, Sebby." Jim replied, handing him a pack of papers held together with a heavy duty paper clip.

"Who's this, then?" Seb asked, even as he began scanning the papers. They seemed to be articles and notes on a wizened old man that looked like he was either a descendent of, or trying to emulate, Gandalf- minus the color coordination, though he certainly did have his own sense of style, to put it lightly.

"That politician I told you about, uses his occupation as Headmaster as a front? Dumbledore. Manipulative, gombeen*, this one- holds a ridiculous amount of titles; he's also a supporter of muggleborns. He's basically the real governor of their world- their Minister writes to him for advice often and makes decisions based on his advice." Jim paused and sat up to stretch. Sebastian noted that Jim's notes were written in his own coded short hand. "Despite the fact everyone acknowledges him as the most powerful wizard in...forever, I suppose, he never had the bullocks to stand up to Voldemort. Never made the effort. Instead, he spends his time organizing a 'secret' resistance effort." Jim scoffed and Sebastian shared his sentiments.

"Okay, so he doesn't like to get his hands dirty. Why are you so concerned about him?" Sebastian knew they were coming to a point, but at this time, he just wasn't in the mood to jump through hoops for Jim. It was rare that his legendary patience ran out when it came to his husband, but everyone had a limit. Jim knew and moved on- Sebastian was one of two that Jim made exceptions for.

"Since he became headmaster, Dumbledore has slowly been eradicating classes. There are none that teach reading, different languages, music, not even art- what's more he won't teach any kind of Grey or Dark magic- I know that you don't understand, just nod and let me move on, Sebby- and there is no offensive magic. He's basically molding these children into harmless, naïve puppets. At least, that's what it looks like to me, at this point."

"So they don't get taught anything they'll need to get along with in the world that outnumbers them."

"Right."

"Why?"

"As far as I can tell, the Ministry of Magic works under the assumption that all wizards and witches who attend Hogwarts will choose to live exclusively in the Magic Word. Too bad for the Muggleborns, I suppose. Dumbledore, from the reports that I've been given, seems to encourage the racism through his manipulation of the House rivalries."

Seb listened as Jim kept talking, not liking the picture that his husband was painting, or that their son might have to get involved. Probably would get involved, if things kept on the way they were.

"Everyone I've talked to says that Dumbledore has been acting as Harry's spokesperson; monitoring his mail, ensuring that he is educated, which we know is clearly a lie." Jim shifted, before running his fingers through his scalp nervously. "He's sending us a letter inviting Harry to a school that we know nothing about, and is asking us to respond to it; he knows we can't so he's banking on 'emergency measures', he'll probably send someone to persuade us."

"But you're making Harry write the letter."

"We're going to find out what their post is like in the morning Sebby!" Sebastian didn't know whether to be exasperated or to be impressed. He just settled for sighing and taking a crisp off the plate.

* * *

 

Sebastian didn't know why, but he just expected another postman to deliver the next letter, the next morning. He and Jim sat on the front stoop, Jim with a cup of steaming coffee in one hand, Harry's letter in the other, while Seb chain smoked his way through the better half of a pack of cigarettes (occasionally, Jim even took a drag).

He did **not** expect an owl to just drop one in their laps, or for Jim to spring up (spilling the coffee) holding out the letter and shouting, "oi! We've got a reply if you'd just wait a minute!" There were a few people who stared, but, like always, Jim didn't give a damn. Instead, he just handed over the letter, plus one that he and Sebastian had written asking their own questions.

The large, imposing, barn owl flew away just as dawn began to break. Not usually one for romance, Sebastian wrapped an arm around Jim; and they just basked in the peace and wondered just how long it would last.

* * *

Professor Albus Dumbledore almost couldn't believe it when he received a response from Harry Potter's address, not one but two! He wondered exactly what needed to be said that could warrant two responses, but didn't hesitate to rip open the first envelope, although he was fascinated by the print. Could the family that Harry was residing with now have taught him to use a quill already?

_To Whom It May Concern:_

_Thank you for your invitation to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, however, before accepting the invitation, I have several questions._

_First and foremost, what sort of secondary education is offered after graduation?_

_What sort of classes are there?_

_Are muggle classes (not on the culture, but their education) taught? And if not, what sort of program is there to help students keep up?_

_Sincerely Yours,_

_Harry Moriarty_

Dumbledore choked on his lemon drop; Fawkes trilled sadly as he coughed and pounded on his own chest until it dislodged, and he spat it out onto the desk, where it bounced several times before finally coming to rest on one of the instruments he was so proud of.

This wasn't right; the boy was responding, first of all, but not only that, he was actually questioning things. Harry was reading into the situation and asking important questions! No, no, no, that wouldn't do at all. His hands began shaking, and Dumbledore felt a sense of dread as he turned to the letter that could only be from his...parents. No, not parents; guardians, yes, that is the word.

_Headmaster Dumbledore,_

_Thank you for your invitation to our son, though it wasn't unexpected. We've known for some time that Harry is special. Our son has written his own letter with questions pertaining to his education, however, we have our own._

_What exactly is the system for supervision for your students? How do you divide the years? Where exactly can we get the items that have been listed on Harry's list (which, might I add, is quite presumptuous; Harry has neither accepted the position and we have not given him permission to attend)._

_(_ Dumbledore only read the rest of the questions and concerns in pieces, his horror mounting)

_If you would send a representative to explain things, it would be greatly appreciated._

_Thank you._

_James Moriarty and Sebastian Moriarty (ne Moran)_

Dumbledore moaned and put his head in his wizened hands. How could he save this situation? Focus, Albus! There might be a way to salvage the situation yet, if he worked for it.

He had planned on sending Hagrid, the gamekeeper, to collect Harry, and still could find no reason to change the plan; while certainly not the fastest snitch in the shop, Hagrid was loyal to him and only him. Not to mention that the half giant was a threatening figure, and fear tended to silence questions; he was ignorant by nature, and would be unable to answer the questions asked. He was also so bumblingly friendly that people who had a conversation with him often found themselves liking him nonetheless.

Nodding to himself, Dumbledore sent for Hagrid, not paying any mind to the confused way that his familiar watched him; Fawkes' eyes were slightly narrowed, his gaze half calculating and half sorrowful.

* * *

It was less than a week later when the Moriarty-Moran family got a response from Dumbledore. They were pleased with the reprieve, and were able to go back to the relative normalcy that was their household when the response finally did come.

In the form of a giant man in a fur coat, blasting down their front door at 6 in the afternoon.

Sebastian responded by drawing a gun and firing off all the bullets in the barrel- into the giant's shoulder of course; they didn't know who he was and they needed to know a lot.

Hagrid had never seen a gun before, let alone had one fired at him. Let alone 6 times. It was enough to make him stumble, but cry out a bit-they'd definitely gotten through his coat; at least one, anyway. Caught by surprise, the half giant was taken down by a muggle wielding a sharp hunting knife to his throat.

"Who are you and what business do you have breaking down the doors of strangers?" The muggle demanded; Hagrid was struck dumb by the sheer viciousness in his dark eyes.

"I'm Rubeus Hagrid, 'ere to collect Harry Potter!" Hagrid grunted out, still too surprised to do much about getting him off.

Sebastian looked to his left, briefly, and met the eyes of Jim; Jim nodded, and Sebastian retreated, knife still in hand. Hagrid gasped and groaned in pain before sitting up and looking at the pair before him; even after working with the creatures he had, he'd very rarely seen the wildness in their eyes.

"Mr. Hagrid, is it? My name is James Moriarty, I'm Harry's father." The smaller one said nodded to him, ignoring his pain; Jim put his hands in his pockets and cocked his head. The (man?) was an idiot, clearly. That could work to their advantage, once he knew the angle to work. He inclined his head to Sebastian, who finally sheathed the knife in his boot. "You've met my husband, Sebastian. Please, come in, I believe that we have things to discuss. Sebby, call Arnett- have him replace the door, please." Sebastian nodded and pulled out his mobile. Hagrid, confused, followed Mr. Moriarty.

Jim led him into the parlor-the one reserved for business. "Please, sit down." He invited, and Hagrid hesitated; he hadn't expected to, one, be shot at by a muggle weapon, and then welcomed by this small, dapper man with strangely cold eyes. "If you'd please remove your coat, I'll take a look at your injury."

Harid found it a tad suspicious that the man knew how to remove bullets, and that he had a first aid kit in the parlor, but didn't say anything about it.

"I apologize for my husband's hasty reaction, however, you _did_ bust down our front door."

"Yeh shouldn' be so ready teh harm when ye've got a boy livin here." Hagrid grunted, Jim raised an eyebrow.

"One can never be too careful in this day and age. Now, you came to 'collect' our son? That can't be right, as we sent a letter to your headmaster requesting information about the magical world." Jim replied calmly, standing up behind the chair opposite to the half-giant. Sitting down would signal equality.

Hagrid shifted. "Dumbledore told me the come an' get Harry an take him to get his school things."

"Wonderful," Jim said, and Hagrid looked up hopefully. "We'll come along as well. We've needed a family outing."

"But…Dumbledore said to only bring Harry." Hagrid repeated, blinking. Jim raised an eyebrow.

"Well, then Harry won't be going." Jim said simply before turning. "Sebby! Bring in the tea, please!" He walked around the room, and Hagrid was reminded of a Hippogriff patrolling it's territory. "Now, before you leave, I must insist on tea."

"Oh, no, tha's-"

"I insist. I get the feeling that we'll be seeing one another again, and I want it to be on good terms." Sebastian entered the room and set the tray on the coffee table. He poured Jim's cup first, knowing how he liked it, before turning to Hagrid and raising an eyebrow.

"Er, just, plain, thanks." Hagrid stammered, Sebastian nodded and poured a separate cup (it was actually a mug, but it was also more durable than the one that Jim had), handing it over without a word.

Finally, Jim sat down, and Seb joined him, consciously turning on his charm, beginning with the gentle smile that often put people off their guard. This did the same for Hagrid, who set down his mug and took off his vast coat AGAIN; moleskin, if Sebastian could recognize the pelt correctly.

"I, er, didn' mean the break down yer door. Dumbledore jes tol' me that I might have some trouble with yeh, yeh see what I'm saying?" Hagrid tried to explain, though he knew it wasn't much of an excuse.

Much to his relief, Jim just nodded, waving the apology away with one hand. "You were worried for Harry, we can respect that. Now, do you mind answering a few questions for us?" Hagrid shrugged, slurping his tea loudly. If Jim had any less self control, he might have twitched. Instead he smiled again, "what kind of education is offered after hogwarts?" At Hagrid's blank look, Jim clarified, "non-magical people have colleges; schools where students study. They take specific classes in accordance with what occupation that they want."

"Ah, I see! Well, Harry will be takin' classes with the first years all together until his 3rd year. In second year he's allowed to pick classes that he'll want for his job, yeh see?" Sebastian raised an eyebrow.

"You expect 12 year olds to make intelligent decisions regarding their future. To stick to the plan they laid out at _12_?" Sebastian asked skeptically, leaning back and crossing his legs. He didn't take his eyes off Hagrid, who shifted. "I expect that students are made aware of what occupation needs what classes?" Hagrid floundered for a moment, before his eyebrows lowered; his thinking was painful to watch.

"I…no. Students have career orientation in 5th year…they normally write home teh ask their family for their opinions." Hagrid admitted, half-heartedly.

"What about the muggle-borns?" Jim asked, and that really got Hagrid's attention.

"I…I suppose tha' they ask their head of house."

"Ah, houses! Another question brought up! What are the houses? How are they sorted? What are the qualifications for each?"

Hagrid perked right up at this new line of questioning; "well there's Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin," there was no disguising the contempt in his voice at the last one, "and Gryffindor. See, at the opening feast, the First Years are sorted by the Sorting Hat; it's put on their heads, and puts them where they belong. Hufflepuff is for the loyal, course, lotsa people think of 'em as duffers, but I say tha' once you find a friend in Hufflepuff, ye'll never want fer company. Ravenclaw's fer the folks that find their friends in books- that lot studies non stop. Gryffindor is for the brave, my old house, ye see. Slytherin's, now, that's a lot that'll throw yeh to the dragons the save their own skins! Cunning and ambitious, they are; not a dark wizard who wasn't in slytherin." Hagrid shuddered and Jim struggled not to let the disgust show on his face; all of the houses had their good sides, and their bad ones- like any trait, your gift was what you made of it. However he didn't react, just let Hagrid continue talking.

He painted a picture that Jim **didn't** like; it was all well and good to gather information, both from the media, and from people who, for the most part, were removed from the situation, but it was another to hear it from one who lived it constantly. The worst part of it, though, was the realization that Hagrid, and probably the rest of his world, had no idea what the hell was wrong with the politics of their own (that and the fact someone had sent a gamekeeper to introduce his son to a new culture, which stunk of a plot).

As much as Jim wanted to keep Harry out of this unknown world, in his own web of safety, he couldn't. Despite how hard he'd worked at it, Harry still had bouts of accidental magic that, once or twice, had been rather dangerous- Jim didn't have the knowledge to teach Harry about his magic, and he couldn't deny him something so important.

They were stuck between a rock and a hard place, in short.

"I suppose you would like to meet Harry, then?" Jim invited, Hagrid stopped talking and looked surprised. He hadn't expected them to just bring the boy out, even with all the pleasantries.

"Yes, I'd like tah see the little tyke, if yeh don't mind." Sebastian chuckled and looked pointedly at the door.

"You can come in now, Harry." The half-giant startled as the door opened, and in stepped the boy that he was asked to retrieve. Hagrid stood up, sending the armchair squealing back, scratching the floorboards; Seb winced-he'd have to call someone in to repair the floor, just putting a rug over the scratches wouldn't satisfy his husband. The chair was a lost cause anyway.

Harry stiffened as Hagrid stooped to hug him, but didn't say anything until he was released. The grin that the giant gave him was nearly impossible to see, the only tell being the crinkling of his eyes.

"Ah, ye've grown inta a fine boy! Las' time I saw you you was just a baby, 'arry, and now look at yeh!" Hagrid laughed boomingly, and Harry just watched. He seemed friendly enough, although certainly clueless. It was useful to know, and if he was as harmless as he seemed, well, he could be entertaining to keep near. Just not involved in anything where decision making was concerned.

If Hagrid notices the cool, appraising attitude of the boy, he says nothing about it. But that might be because of the sudden noise he makes before hurrying back to his coat. "I knew I fergot somethin'…ah! Here it is," triumphantly, Hagrid withdrew another parchment and handed it over to Harry. Harry himself looked slightly surprised, and Jim looked infuriated- Sebastian just seemed amused.

Harry unfolded the parchment; Sebastian watched his son's eyebrows disappear into his hairline with amusement.

"It's my school list," he informed his parents, before looking at Hagrid in confusion. "Where am I supposed to get a cauldron? Or any of the books on the reading list?" At this Sebastian made his way over to Harry and held out his hand. Harry handed it over without complaint. The paper was heavy, the texture not what he was used to.

The items listed, in any other circumstances, could have been the part of a very bad joke. And had Sebastian not seen Harry once turn a set of china into a flock of geese, by accident, he would have thought it was a joke. As it was…he was beginning to wonder, still.

"Back to my son's question, where exactly do we obtain these things?" Sebastian asked, looking up at Hagrid.

"Diagon Alley, right 'ere in London!"

"Really?" Jim asked, with such false brightness even Hagrid seemed suspicious. "What street?"

"Charing Cross Road." Hagrid admitted, but relaxed at the pleased smile that Jim gave him.

"Wonderful! We can walk there!"

* * *

It was a sullen Hagrid that led the little family down the street to the Leaky Cauldron 5 minutes later, looking very uncomfortable with the situation, maybe more at the family that followed-despite being larger than him, Hagrid was still wary about Sebastion, and at the lack of fear or hesitation to harm in his eyes, when he'd thought that Hagrid was threatening his family. Jim also made him uncomfortable-Hagrid had a natural distrust toward people who hid their intentions; and he had a gut feeling that that was exactly what Jim was doing.

To be fair, and much to his surprise, little Harry was happy, even he could see that- he was with people who cared about him and his wellbeing-not treated like scum by jealous adults, like he'd been told by Dumbledore. His leader must be mistaken.

Nonetheless, he'd keep on watching.

It was a strange little group that made it's way to the Leaky Cauldron, through London, and many stared at them. Jim was faintly uncomfortable-not at the attention itself, god knows he was used to it, so much as the fact that he was not in control of it or the situation; at least, not as much as he would have liked to be. But, as he could do nothing about it, Jim simply took Seb's offered hand and tapped a rhythm on the back of it; Sebastian smiled as he recognized it; _Thieving Magpie_ , his husband's favorite.

Harry himself thought that it was fortunate that they lived only a few blocks away from the Leaky Cauldron-though he did notice that his Father almost walked past it; Jim pulled on his arm and pointed out the dilapidated building with the faded paint, and the crooked sign. It takes a moment, Sebastian squints, trying to avoid the urg to look from the hamburger restaurant on one side to the bookstore on the other- but once he sees it, he sees it, and can't help but wonder just how the bloody hell he missed such a noticeable place?

"'s got a charm on it, won't let muggles see-least, makes em ferget it almost immediately. They got to be shown the place." Hagrid announced, leading them inside. This got Jim's attention.

If muggles couldn't see it, why could he?

Hagrid was polite enough to hold open the door,and it was in this way that Jim got his first look at the bar (Hagrid had claimed it served as an inn as well, but a bar was clearly what it was, first and foremost). He wondered if this was part of the reason parents weren't traditionally brought along on these trips, because no parent in their right mind would be comfortable if their child had to walk through this at 10 and 11 years old; the bar was probably as close to a diver bar as one could get, without actually _being_ one. It wasn't even a clean bar; age old grime and dust coated the scratched wooden floor and stained the windows, leaving the establishment perpetually dimmed (though the cloud of smoke that hung in the air helped; apparently the wizarding community handn't gotten word of the smoking ban, because nearly everyone had a lit pipe-the noxious smoke making Harry cough and Jim wrinkling his nose). Jim regretted wearing one of his Westwoods out-he doubted he'd ever get the smell out of it now, and it happened to be one of his favorites, and now it smelled like smoke (though from the smell, he got the impression that more than one person had weed in their pipe, not that it helped).

"Ah! Hagrid! Usual, then?" The toothless bartender called above the din.

"N'thanks Tom, 'm on official Hogwarts business. I'm escortin' little Harry-" The look that Jim gave Hagrid made him flinch and hurry to correct himself, "Moriarty and is…parents to the Alley. We're gettin' his Hogwarts things." Tom grinned and Hagrid breathed a sigh of relief when Jim nodded in approval at the correction of the boy's surname.

"Be seein' you then! Yer in fer a treat this year, Mr. Moriarty." He grinned a gummy grin and bustled off to take the order of a wizard in a turban who'd just sat down.

Hagrid gestured for them to follow and said, carelessly over his shoulder, "Alley's out the back!"

Catching his husband's eye, Jim saw Seb wave him along and continued following the half-giant; Seb smiled in a way that was meant to be comforting and friendly and approached the bar to take a seat. He had information to gather. So he sat at that bar and ignored the slight stickiness of the stool and the bar itself and waited for Tom to approach. He mused about the loss of teeth; and wonders if wizards have no dental care, because the man can't be older than 50.

"So what'll it be?"

"Actually, I just have a few questions if you don't mind."

* * *

 

Much as Jim was loathe to admit it, he did like Diagon Ally (though it seriously needed a new name; Diagonally? Really?), and he found it very interesting; from the look of it-he craned his head back and forth like some sort of owl. Jim liked things that were old-and the ally looked like it had popped right out of a history book (though, admittedly, one from a fantasy novel). He liked places that were antique, noisy, chaotic-the ally was all of this, a jumbled mess that reminded him of a marketplace in an Italian village that the family had found during his and Seb's honeymoon. It wasn't in appearance, so much as the friendly, timeless air-you could have gone back a century, and Jim was sure that very little would have been changed. They passed stores with strange names, with characters just as strange.

Harry clung to his father's hand, his emerald eyes as large as saucers, trying to see everything. Jim wished that they could stop and look through everything, but Hagrid didn't offer a tour, just kept walking, so, Jim smiled at his son and whispered, "we'll come back as a family and look at everything that there is to see. I promise." Harry grinned like the sun.

"First thing's first, that means Gringotts. That's the wizarding bank, run by goblins." Hagrid introduced cheerfully, leading them farther down the street until they rounded the corner. At the very end of the ally is a large white building in marble, so extravagant looking it could give parliament a run for it's money (pardon the pun)-it stood over the rest of the shops like a hulking bully over it's cowering victims. Shaking off the image of Carl Powers, Jim focused on the conversation between Hagrid and his son.

"Hagrid, why are we going to Gringotts? I don't have any money there." This was worded carefully; Harry knew that his father had no shortage of funds, but he knew for a fact that Jim didn't have any real dealings in the wizarding world.

"Did yeh think yer parents left yeh with nothing?" It took Harry a moment to realize that Hagrid was speaking of his biological parents. When he realized the implication that he had a freaking _inheritance_ , his expression tightened.

"Yes, but Hagrid, Father and Dad don't have any sort of proof of my identity, and the Dursley's didn't have it either," _and they told me that they got nothing, that I had to pay for my keep, and all this time, there was **money** that they might have been lying about?_ He'd long ago accepted that what the Dursley's had done to him was unacceptable, was abusive, but still, that didn't mean that he didn't attempt to explain it away. "How am I going to get to it?"

"I've got yer key, of course!" Hagrid responded cheerfully.

"How the hell did you get his key?" Jim demanded, and Harry's face went stony.

"I…Dumbledore gave it teh me." Hagrid said quietly. Jim raised an eyebrow; by this point they were climbing the long steps up the bank, and Jim felt it safe to ditch him.

"And why, pray tell does Dumbledore have his bloody key? What legal right does he have?" At the floundering look of Hagrid, Jim merely held out his hand, "hand it over." This was the voice that made scores of underworld criminals hasten to obey him-Hagrid fumbled and quickly held it out, flinching back when Jim took it. With that, they father and son began walking past him. "Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Hagrid, but I believe that we can take things from here." Harry waved good bye to their 'guide' and followed his dad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have nothing against Hagrid, but the man's as dumb as a box of rocks.  
> IMPORTANT:  
> I'm running a poll as to what house Harry should be in, and I want you to vote in the comments! Please, if you are able, give me a good explanation as to why Harry should be where he goes-I don't want to just stick Harry in Slytherin because he's clever, I want real reasons to use for the Hogwarts sorting hat.  
> I Need You  
> To Vote


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeez, I'm so glad that so many people took the time to read my author's note at the bottom of the last chapter! I'm really happy that everyone likes the story so far, and I'm glad that so many people took the time to give their opinions! I'm impressed and touched, really.
> 
> Sad news though; I will be returning to school, unfortunately, and my updates will likely be even more erratic. I'll try and do my best, but I just thought that everyone should be aware. If this chapter is a bit of a mess, I'm sorry, I'm posting this late, I'm tired and I just want to get it posted-I'll clean it up later if it doesn't make any sense.
> 
> For those of you who don't know; I'm decided what House to put Harry in. If you have an opinion, put it into your review, with an explanation of why, please. So far, Ravenclaw is winning, with Hufflepuff as my second choice, but I can be persuaded.

 

They passed a plaque that had Harry craning his head to get a second look at it, but his father was walking too fast for him to get a good look, only catching the first line (enter stranger but take heed; a warning?) before he was ushered inside. The interior of Gringotts was just as impressive as it's exterior, polished marble and stone. Tellers were behind the long counter that circled the room like a horseshoe; all of them goblins, and all of them rather grumpy looking-some busied themselves with customers, others were going about their business, counting up precious gems and metals valuable enough that it made Jim's head spin (not that he'd ever admit it.

Never one to hesitate, Jim led them to a goblin that wasn't waiting on anyone; Harry could only stare (as politely as he possibly could) at the strange person up close; he was only up to Harry's chest, with thick, creased leathery skin. He had narrowed eyes that looked clever and ruthless, and long, elegant fingers that stopped writing in the huge tome open before him. Setting the quill down, he folded his hands neatly and looked at them with a grudgingly polite expression, "how may I help you today?" Harry noticed the very sharp fangs with interest, but didn't comment on them-it wasn't polite.

Jim smoothed his expression into the one that he used during his business deals, Harry settled back to watch the exchange. "I'm afraid that my son and I need to speak to the manager of the Potter accounts, and I would like to see the holder of the Black accounts as well, as soon as possible." The goblin raised an eyebrow, and seemed to sneer.

"Do you have your keys?" Jim held out Harry's.

"I have my son's- I was never issued one. While we are on that subject, however, I would also like to know how a third party, who should have no access to my son's account, obtained the key in question, and why."

The goblin seemed amused at this. "And who are you?"

"I am James Moriarty, descendent of the Black family. My mother was disowned for reasons I'd rather not get into here, but I'd like to know if there's any way that I was disowned as well, or whatever the tradition is." Jim waved his hand dismissively at the interest gleaming in the goblin's eyes, before putting a hand on Harry's shoulder, "and my son, Harry Moriarty; previously known as Harry Potter." The goblin smiled nastily.

"You'll be wanting to speak with Ironclaw and Brobdingnag. Griphook!" Another goblin scuttled forward and opened up the way through the counter; this one was smaller than the first- reaching the middle of Harry's ribs; he had a long, hooked nose, and thick dark hair-however, Griphook, like the previous goblin, had pure, cunning black eyes.

"Let's go," he grunted, leading them through set of ornate double doors, into a hallway decorated with the finest of things; Harry saw his father admiring the cherry paneling on the walls, and wondered which safe house he'd choose to emulate the cheery effect; or would it be the row house?

The longer that they walked, the more Harry noticed the halls take on a more…cavernous quality; it wasn't anything noticeable, just a feeling. Windows began to disappear, nd a sense of vertigo seemed to overwhelm him, before he realized that the floor must be sloping down subtly. Quite smart, building underground. Harry wondered if the goblins must have some sort of sixth sense when it came to navigating the hallways-after a few minutes and endless corners, Harry knew that he wouldn't be able to make his way back out without Griphook. Even Jim felt the same, compensating by keeping close to his son.

"Brobdingnag is the executer of the Potter estastes; we'll be taking Mr. Potter there first. Unless you believe that he needs assistance?" Harry sent his father a pleading expression. Jim thought about it (though the thought only lasted about half a second); Harry had been begging, as politely as possible, for a chance to help with his network. Jim could appreciate his son's enthusiasm, however, the fact was that Harry had no experience with money, or getting information-at least through official channels (which, despite the Ice Man's greatest attempts, he still had to do on many, frequent occasions). It was a good opportunity to garner experience and test his skill set; plus, there was the fact that Jim could get any information Harry failed to or forgot about quite easily.

"No, my son can find what he needs on his own. Right?" Harry nodded, grinning. Jim touched his shoulder and Harry settled a bit, although he couldn't help the smile.

"This is it." Griphook knocked on a door, unlabeled, and opened it. He glanced at Harry and smiled nastily, before continuing down the hall. Jim followed him, not risking another glance behind him.

He was afraid the worry might show on his face.

Harry swallowed but entered Brobdingnag's office; it was in richer colors than the hallway, and darker paneled wood. The goblin did not stand as he entered, only cast a critical eye over him; this one was the tallest Harry had seen, easily reaching his shoulders-he was built powerfully, and though he looked to be getting on in age, Harry was willing to bet that he could still kill a man easier than the golem had been able.

"With all due respect, Mr. Potter, for us to continue, we need to go over a few formalities." Brobdingnag gestured to the seat before his desk, and Harry sat down. He sat with his legs crossed, resting his head on one hand. He looked almost identical to James Moriarty in that moment-powerful, interested, cool but totally in control of himself and the situation. Brobdingnag began by explaining that in 10 years, the goblins had not received a response from him or the Potter representative, and, all in all, the elderly goblin was not pleased-no contact, no effort, no nothing, equaled a very unhappy solicitor. It took some time before Harry managed to get a word in edgewise, and he did so by holding up his right hand, as if he was in school-but he maintained his composure.

"Sir, let me explain. For the first 6 years after my parent's passing, I was raised by my muggle relatives; they treated me as their slaves and cruelly mistreated me. My current father, one of them, found out about the abuse and took me from their home. I was adopted by this man's boss, and they were married several years later. I have had no notices sent to me regarding my accounts, my heritage, or anything of the like. Now, I was brought here by the Hogwarts gamekeeper, who has possession of my vault key-apparently Headmaster Dumbledore has had possession of it all this time. Now, I would like you to please drop the attitude, and talk to me like a person who has gotten the short end of the stick when it comes to being reintroduced to my heritage, find out exactly how Dumbledore got his hands on _what is mine_ and fix the problem. Thank you." Harry managed to keep his voice very level, his face composed, and his hands folded; only a slight narrowing of his eyes revealed his righteous anger. Nonetheless, Brobdingnag did feel a grudging bit of understanding.

The goblin had been the solicitor of the Potter accounts since the boy's grandfather had come of age; he took pride in his work, in his duty. The Potters were a respectable family, not just because of their wealth but their honesty, and, when it came down to it, vicious cunning; they were lions first, but even the king of beasts had to hide in order to catch it's prey. Harry Potter, Brobdingnag believed, was turning out to be more like his grandfather-a man who had a slytherin mother, and had been a good half inch from being a slytherin himself.

"Very well." He produced a large sheet of clean parchment, "this is a sort of blood ritual-it's used in proving illegitimate children in bloodlines, mostly, but because you want us to investigate this inconsistent key distribution, we're going to make sure that _you_ actually are Harry Potter. You need to cut yourself with this," a small knife about the size of a penknife was set down on the parchment; it was pure silver, and inscribed with strange looking letters that Harry immediately knew as runes, "bleed on the parchment a bit and if you are who you say you are, we can get started." Without hesitating, Harry seixed the little knife and sliced a bit of his index finger.

The blood hit the parchment and stayed there; there was a brief, very brief, moment of worry, before the blood was absorbed and writing the same color of the blood appeared; it seemed to swirl around for a minute, but letters oozed from the page, reading:

**_Account #: 137000462901_ **

**_Birth Name: Harry James Potter_ **

**_Current Name: Harry James Moriarty_ **

**_Legal Guardians: Siruis Orion Black (Indisposed)_ **

**_Alice Marie Longbottom (Long-term Patient-St. Mungo's)_ **

**_James Aedan Moriarty_ **

**_Sebastian William Moran_ **

**_Title: Lord Potter_ **

**_Vaults: 8_ **

**_#37401- Balance (14,700,841 galleons, 56,789 sickles, 190,388 knuts)_ **

**_#37483- Balance (-2,782 galleons, -457,983 sickles, -4,789 knuts; debts annulled- property rights to heir)_ **

**_#37483- Balance (1,691 galleons, 90 sickles, 380 knuts)_ **

**_#37689- Balance (28,494,590 galleons, 50,000,343 sickles, 398,498 knuts)_ **

**_#38987- Balance (0)_ **

More writing appeared, but the rest of his vaults read 0 as well, and Harry looked at the goblin in question.

"Why do the rest of my accounts read zero and what are the negatives? How are the debts annulled?"

Brobdingnag coughed and opened a large file, rifling through the papers before coming to what he'd been looking for, explaining carefully, "the vaults without any finances contain mostly heirlooms, documents, jewelry and property rights; things that belong to you but that have no immediate monetary value without being sold. As to your second question, you grandfather was very talented with money; in his lifetime, thanks to his wise investments and business ventures, as well as hard work, your family's saving more than quadrupled. Your father, however, didn't have his father's skill. Once he turned 17, your grandfather gave your father a separate bank account and made him sign an agreement, a binding one, that he would not use the family vault for anything but care of his family or properties, at least not without speaking to me. His vault was distributed a weekly allowance. He tried to follow in his father's footsteps, however he was unsuccessful. Because his debts were never paid off, and because they were not to be drawn from the Potter account, you inherit an empty vault-it has nothing in it, and the debt was annulled with his death." Harry nodded in quiet understanding.

"What kinds of investments? How did he select them?" Harry wondered; he wasn't much for stocks and bonds, and neither was Jim-he just asked for curiosity's sake.

"He selected them based on the recommendations of Albus Dumbledore. It's quite possible this trust is how the headmaster received your key in the first place." Harry sighed; it was disrespectful to speak ill of the dead, and he had no reason to blame his father-he had enough money, even with his foolishness. He breathed deeply and filed the thought away. "Most of the business and people that he invested in never made it off the ground or didn't result in significant monetary gain."

"Why did he follow Dumbledore's orders? Do you know anything about that?" Bobdingnag chuckled sardonically.

"Your parents belonged to a group that opposed Voldemort's beliefs. Dumbledore, as well as holding several important titles, as well as being their Headmaster, was the "Leader of the Light", and the group answered to him. He…often suggested where members should invest." Harry didn't know whether to laugh at the foolishness of parents he'd never know, or to pity them-what must it be like, to trust someone so implicitly that they did what asked without second thought; even with his fathers, Harry asked why-they taught him to do so, to question and analyze, take everything with a pinch of salt.

"I would like a change in keys-neutralize the ones out, produce two new ones. And I would like a copy of all bank statements for my vaults in the last 10 years." Borbdingnag nodded and handed over the file, before writing something down on what looked to be…a flat stone the size of a small paperback.

"These tablets are distributed among the senior goblins who hold important accounts, such as myself, in case of an emergency which I would say qualifies for this. What is written on here is transferred to the intended recipients, much like muggle's email." Harry flipped through the numbers with practiced patience, his eyes narrowing at some of the figures, at the with drawls that had certainly not come from him.

"Who's been taking money?" Harry demanded, Brobdingnag smiled dryly and chuckled.

"Dumbledore; it's been very little, but consistent, once every week. The money was traded to the equivalent muggle equivalent and placed into a bank account belonging to one Petunia Evans. Money has been taken out of the account from there as well, but…"

"My Aunt Petunia died shortly after I was adopted. Who's taking the money?"

"From there I am not positive, Mr. Potter. However, if you so wish, I can personally ave the money taken back from Dumbledore, the funds that we can prove anyhow, with interest if you so wish it." Harry thought it out, before looking at the solicitor.

"What do you think that I should do?" Brobdingnag was taken aback, and studied the boy before him more closely; he exuded an air of quiet confidence, control and curiosity. He closely resembled James Potter, but only on the surface- the contemplative expression never would have crossed James Potter's face; indeed even the boy's unruly hair seemed to be wild just because he _let_ it be that way.

It was rare that a wizard sought a goblin's advice-professionally or otherwise; any other time it would have been taken with surprise, but because it was Harry Potter, this was special cause for attention. Who would this boy turn out to be? Leaning back, making the chair creek, the goblin folded his long, clawed fingers over his stomach. "It depends on what exactly you'd like; most likely, suing for what is owed to you will result in attention from the public., Dumbledore is a very big name after all, and there's no guarantee that you'd get it back. Not to mention that people will want to know where you've been, which I assume you don't want. If we just cut his access from the vaults, he will not be able to draw any more, and no other notice will be given." Brobgingnag coughed a bit, "there's also the matter of your parents wills."

"They had a will?"

"It was a time of war, Mr. Potter, of couse they did. Their will, however was sealed before it could be read or put into effect, by the Wizengamont. You can petition to have it opened, however, and would likely succeed."

Harry sighed and thought of what his Dad would do in this situation. Then realized that the question was redundant; he wasn't James Moriarty, and Jim would want him ot think for himself, and he wanted to prove to his father that he had learned. "I would like all documents containing information about my account given to me, or in the least made copies of. Issue new keys, make sure that Dumbledore isn't able to access anything. As to my parent's will…I'll have to think about it. I want to know what's in it, but I need to weigh the pros and cons." Brobdingnag nodded, and, with a vulpine smile, did as he was asked.

* * *

In Ironclaw's office, James Moriarty was pleasantly surprised that his hunch had paid off…in a way. The stout little goblin seemed amused by the situation, and he figured, _everything else in the Wizarding World is backwards, why not it's inheritance laws?_

"Despite your mother being disowned, your grandfather never put that into place for her offspring, that being you. On the condition that you are, indeed, magical, you have every right to the Black family vaults."

Jim clicked his tongue.

"I've never been taught magic." Jim admitted, finally. "Or tested. Mother didn't want to know that I could have inherited what she didn't. Can I be tested for it now?" Ironclaw nodded, and produced a needle.

"It's a fairly simple procedure. Prick your finger and if you are magical, the needle will glow. If not, it will stay plain." Jim took the needle from him and turned it over in his fingers, thinking long and hard.

It was an unbelievably plain needle; in any other context, he might have thought it belonged to a sewing kit. Nothing special about it, whatsoever. With that said, it was Jim's final chance; he could still cange his mind, could take Harry and Sebastian and run. They could leave England, never come back; modern day gypsies, exploring the world. They could financially afford to walk away, to abandon the network-there was enough money in off shore accounts all over the world so that Harry would never have to work, and neither would his grandchildren.

He couldn't do it.

The temptation to poke at these sleeping lions was too tempting, and Jim stabbed at his index finger, on his left hand, viciously.

The needle began to glow.

Moriarty smiled grimly.

Ironclaw shuffled several papers, "now, getting on with things…"

* * *

Hagrid sat glumly in Diagon Alley, trying to figure out just what had happened for the goblins to deny him entry into Harry's vault.

After Mr. Moriarty and Harry had entered the bank, Hagrid had followed, and witnessed them being escorted back to the private offices. Hagrid had tried to withdraw money so that they could get right to shopping (the Headmaster had, wisely, thought to give him a spare, incase it got sat on or lost in one of his many coat pockets), but the goblins had said that the vault was "temporarily closed until we can figure this mess out", and they told him to come back later. So, Hagrid had puttered around the Alley, chatting up acquaintences and wasting time- he returned to the bank an hour and a half later, but the goblin had told him "that key is no longer in circulation; a new one has been issued."

So, there he sat, waiting like a stray dog for Harry to come back out. It had been an hour since his second rejection, and while Hagrid was not a man especially prone to constant activity, despite his job, after so long of sitting and waiting without doing anything, Hagrid was beginning to grow restless.

It was just when he'd begun to contemplate whether or not to owl the Headmaster that the two entered Hagrid's line of sight. Harry carried an armful of folders, but was carefully handing them, one at a time, to Mr. Moriarty, who was putting them in what looked like a leather briefcase.

_Must've bought it off the goblins,_ Hagrid thought miserably; for a fee, the goblins sold things of that nature for carrying important papers and documents. The cases all had feather-light charms and undetectable expansion charms, spelled into them separately by the dealer who, in turn, had sold them to the goblins; a way to ensure that they performed to the best of their ability, as opposed to the massive spells that most bags of that nature had.

Hagrid stood, the bench he had been sitting on moaned in relief, matching his sigh of relief rather nicely. He approached the two, Harry's school list in hand.

"Where've yeh been?" Hagrid asked, but his impatience cooled at the icy look Jim gave him.

"The bank." Harry answered for his father, handing the last of the folders over. Jim put them in the case as well and snapped it closed. Jim laughed at the prompt, and true, answer. Hagrid just sighed, before standing at attention when Jim looked right at him.

"I'd like Harry's list, please." Hesitantly, Hagrid handed it over without complaint; at this point, Hagrid just wanted to go back to the Leaky Cauldron and drink a bottle of Firewhiskey, the day had been so long, and worrisome. Jim folded it up with marked grace and tucked it into the briefcase. "Thank you for your introduction to the Alley, Mr. Hagrid, however it has been a long day, and I believe that we'll do our shopping tomorrow." Harry chose this moment to, wisely, yawn. Jim petted his hand absently. "As you can see, my son is tired."

"Alrigh', I guess. I'll come an'-"

"We can bring ourselves, Mr. Hagrid, no need to lose another day of work." Jim smiled brightly, as if pleased by the generosity. He turned to Harry and prompted, gently, "what do you say?"

Harry, picking up on the hint, smiled languidly at Hagrid and held out a hand, "thank you for bringing us, Mr. Hagrid." Without thinking about it, Hagrid had shaken Harry's hand; dwarfing it in his own giant paw.

Jim wasted no time in leading Harry away, and Hagrid watched them go. Among the crowd, it seemed like they stood out, have no troubkle navigating the crowd, absently fighting a current that seemed to part as they approached. Despite not being one for introspection, Hagrid got the vague impression that any crowd would part for the family subconsciously and without realizing why, just because of their presence. He shook his head, and the thought away; what a stupid idea.

* * *

Jim and Harry collected Sebastian from the bar on their way out, where the blond had been gathering information from the half-intoxicated crowd.

They walked home under the darkening sky, watched by artificial lights that gleamed like small moons. Harry walked between his father's, feeling strangely tired. If he had been just a year or two younger, he would have asked Sebastian to carry him-that being said, he was so tired now that he clung to both men's hands and tried to keep his eyes open.

They returned home and found the door repaired, with new locks- the keys were on the other side o the door in a plastic bag, taped there, and reachable by putting one's hand through the mail slot.

Little was said between the family that particular night- they ate leftover Thai, and Harry went up to bed. 10 minutes later, on the way to their room, Jim found Seb in Harry's doorway, watching the boy sleep; he was snoring already, so tired that he had fallen asleep almost immediately. Jim approached, cautious of the air of despondency that his husband seemed to exude.

Sebastian, who'd heard Jim walk up, said, quietly, "I feel like I'm losing you both." Jim relaxed and walked up behind his husband, stepping up and wind his arms around Seb's waist. "You're both sinking into a fantasy novel, and I can't join you."

But it was so much more- Sebastian could accept being less intelligent than Jim. He could accept that his husband was on a completely different mental plane than himself, and that Harry was slowly ascending to that same plane as well. He'd been okay with it, and always would be so, because he loved Jim, and in his own way, Jim loved him back. In that footing, they were equal; their relationship was give and take; Jim could make the plans, Seb would shoot the gun-Seb was willing to do everything and anything for Jim. Only Seb could reach Jim when he retreated into the dark places that he would sometimes retreat; for all that Jim loved them, Jim was dangerous-he trusted Seb to keep Harry safe when he lost control, to pull him out of his fits-Sebastian could bring out, and could see, the grain of humanity that was within Moriarty, and only Sebastian and Harry could do that; for this, Jim was grateful. Now they were facing enemies that they'd never seen, an empire they'd never dealt with, enemies that a gun could do little against.

If Sebastian could protect Jim and Harry, he was useless.

Sensing the doubt, Jim tucked his face into Sebastian's back, between his shoulder blades. "You're with us Tiger." Jim promised, basking in the warmth he offered, and if he sounded a bit vulnerable, well, Seb didn't point it out. "Unless you don't want to be anymore."

Immediately, Sebastian voiced his protestations, "I'm yours, boss, so long as you want me."

Their fears soothed for the moment, the two retreated to their room, shutting Harry's bedroom door tightly, but silently; each of them hoped, privately and irrationally, that just by shutting the door, nothing bad would enter and harm him.

* * *

They were up early the next day, all of them (save Jim, who had stayed up nearly the whole night doing paperwork and getting acquainted with his new accounts and properties, making calls, and drawing up new plans and battle strategies); Harry, specifically, snapped awake with the excitement only a young boy faced with the prospect of something so remarkably new and interesting can have. He dressed for comfort, rather than style; because they would be doing a lot of walking and shopping today, he saw no need to dress to the nines-today was for pleasure, not business. Seb was jolted awake by the sound of the kitchen smoke alarm and groaned; that meant Jim had tried to be domestic again, and burned whatever he'd tried to cook-making an even bigger mess for Sebastian than he would have faced if Jim had just let him cook in the first place. Hurrying downstairs, Sebastian's theory was confirmed; apparently the consulting criminal had attempted to make pancakes (or what were supposed to be pancakes; one look at the batter told Seb that Jim had tried to 'improve' the recipe he'd gotten off Google).

The blackened pan was scraped clean as Jim sulked, the 'batter' thrown out; instead, Sebastian made oatmeal, eggs, bacon and toast-at which point Harry came bounding down the stairs, making Jim perk up almost immediately.

"How do you feel about getting your wand last?" Jim questioned, standing up; since he could cook worth shit, he might as well set the table.

"I don't mind. Can we get robes first?" Harry asked. Sebastian chuckled as he began dishing out the food.

"You want to just get it over with, kiddo?" Seb teased, grinning at the sour look that Jim gave him. Despite Jim's best efforts, he hadn't been able to impose upon Harry a love of shopping for clothes.

"Yes, I do." Harry admitted, shrugging. Seb laughed at the utter lack of apology; he was becoming more like Jim every day. Jim rolled his eyes affectionately, handing over a plate and a bowl heaped with food, both of which Harry accepted and immediately dug into.

Jim sat down with his own plate a moment later, and began idly picking at a scorch mark in the table, with his other hand he started spooning sugar into his oatmeal. "We should buy double the ingredients that they listed," Jim said absently, making Harry look up at him.

"How come?"

"Accidents happen of course. Besides, knowing you, I'm sure that you'll be performing a few experiments on your own." Harry nodded thoughtfully, swallowing a mouthful of egg. "And your booklist, well, we'll be purchasing more than that, I'm afraid." Jim teased, knowing that his son wouldn't mind at all. Seb took his seat and began with a shred of bacon, smiling slyly. "What's your opinion of pets, Tiger?"

Seb sipped his coffee suspiciously; the last time that Jim wanted a 'pet', he'd stolen a panther from the zoo.

"What sort of pet?"

"An owl." Jim answered promptly, though it was the answer that made Sebastian blink. "They use owls for mail, remember?"

Seb grunted, but looked a bit sheepish, "I just thought it was the school."

Jim made a thoughtful noise; one finger traced the rim of his milk glass, "suppose I can't fault you for that one; they are a very strange society. It hardly makes any sense to me." Jim admitted, shrugging. Sebastian gave him a disbelieving look. Jim turned indignant. "What?"

"You? You can't make sense of something?" Harry answered.

Jim sniffed. "I'll choose to take that as a compliment."

"It was." Harry and Sebastian echoed simultaneously. Harry giggled and Seb grinned- even Jim chuckled.

* * *

They left after breakfast was eaten and the dishes washed. Because they had no other way to do so, they entered Diagon Alley through the Leaky Cauldron again, the same as yesterday. Although, this time the patrons of the bar greeted Sebastian with a, more or less, unanimous shout/slur of his first name. Jim smiled softly, squeezing his hand; though the opinions of drunks usually didn't matter to him, a lot of what Sebastian had gathered for him had been useful. Tom, the bartender, chatted easily with them as he led them to the wall, and wished them a good day once it opened.

Without Hagrid pushing them along, they stopped to browse and peruse; there was so much to see! Jim wondered if it was because his brain was in shock yesterday, because today everything seemed so much more intense. Part of it could probably be explained by Sebastian; because he had been absent yesterday, everything is new, seen with fresh eyes. Stone faced Sebby is just as excited as their eleven year old son. They stop and listen to salesmen and women, buy what takes their fancy. There are people selling glass spheres with exact replicas of the night sky, sweets that they've never heard of. Things were so fascinating, even getting his uniform wasn't so bad as Harry had feared; Madam Malkin's was run by a witch of the same name, who was stout and small, and slung magic around without second thought; Harry had no problem standing still as a magical measuring tape took down his measurements without her prompting, with the witch herself just writing the numbers down.

The fitting itself was actually quite fun; Madame Malkin was a gossip-she nattered on about the price of dragon blood, and how the Ministry was doing such a muck-up job, wasn't it such a disgrace? Oh, but you're muggles-well, I certainly hope that you don't need to have any dealings with the Ministry! Jim was ready to blow Malkin's brains out by the time that she finally, smiled and said, "that's you done, dear!" The Hogwarts uniform was a long black robe, black slacks, a gray sweater vest, and a white collared shirt-according to Madame Malkin, the uniform was spelled to show the House crest once Harry was sorted, and his tie, also gray, would reflect the house colors as well.

Jim thought it was quite well done, speaking from someone who'd had a private tailor for over a decade and knew the difference between shoddy work and work well done. Harry looked so proud standing there, Seb took a picture with the spare camera that he usually brought with him.

Eyelops Owl Emporium, down the street, was a quiet experience; because the owls were mostly light sensitive, the low lighting in the store made it difficult to properly distinguish one owl from another. The air was never silent, the shifting of feathers, of clicking talons on perches, made it a someone eerie trip. Harry was practically vibrating with energy as he explored the place, going from one owl to the next as if jerked on a string. Jim and Sebastian browsed as well-picking up owl treats and a large, comfortable perch, leaving Harry to decide on the cage himself. They watched as Harry crooned and petted a particularly spectacular owl-a large, female snow owl with bright amber eyes who preened under his attentions. When Harry looked at his parents, Jim tried to, gently, and half-heartedly dissuade his son.

"Now, you realize that if you get her, you'll never be able to get your mail without attracting attention?" Jim reminded, Harry gave him a stony look, and the owl herself seemed to bristle at the suggestion that any other owl was acceptable for the boy. "Alright, then, if that's what you want, dear. Go pick out a cage, then?" Harry selected a roomy, ironwork cage that was aesthetically pleasing and easy to carry.

Jim was like a child in a candy store as they went to get potion's supplies-he got the clerk to help point out what to look for in acceptable ingredients, asking questions and making sure that Harry paid attention as well. Sebastian made sure to get the pictures-it was rare that Jim looked so carefree without his mask. Indded, he could have passed for a freshly graduated Hogwarts student when he smiled like that. All the ingredients went into paper packets and into the pewter cauldron-the brass scales gleamed cheerfully in the afternoon as they stepped out again. They went in to buy a trunk and had one specially ordered; special compartments that would continually expand for everything Harry put in, accessible to only him, a feather light charm to ensure that he would have no trouble carrying it. They all loved it; pure leather that gleamed proudly, Harry's initials proudly on the lid in gold.

Flourish and Blotts was a dream come true for the whole family-their purchases had to be shrunk for them at the checkout (and oh, had Jim gotten furious at the haughty look the woman had given them, along with the sniff. _Muggles or Mudbloods,_ she'd mumbled to her husband, who nodded regretfully). Jim had bought everything on the list, spell books for every year (for himself, of course), long time classics, history books, etiquette-as well as current best sellers-what better way to integrate into a culture than to know its culture first?

They took a break after that, stopping in at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, and having large ice creams; Jim had chocolate, banana and caramel, Sebastian had a small strawberry and almond, and Harry had a mint cone with raspberry sauce. It's a satisfying thing, to eat an unhealthy snack with the ones that you love, and bask in the dying light of a well spent shopping day- Jim didn't want it to end, and was grateful for his sharp memory. Sebastian lingered, going over the details-unfolding the sensations and things that his senses absorbed and examining them over again. Harry merely closed his eyes and committed to memory what he could, sure that he'd remember more if he remained relaxed.

Finally, the final stop was for their wands. The moment that they entered, Sebastian's hackles raised; the air was charged with electricity. He felt like someone was continually breathing down his neck. Surreptitiously, he slipped his hand into his jacket pocket, touching the revolver that he'd brought with them. He glanced at Jim and saw complete relaxation in the small form, much to his shock, and Harry was the same. He wondered if it was magic; if there was so much in the building that even he, as a muggle could practically taste it on his tongue.

"Welcome." A voice called; a spindly little man in tweed, covered in dust emerged from seemingly nowhere, with pale, bulging eyes and hair that looked like he'd stuck a finger in a light socket. "Harry Potter, I wondered when I would see you in here! Why, only yesterday, your parents were buying their own wands, it seems. 11" mahogany, pliable, good for Transfiguration, that was your father's. And sweet Lily, willow, 10 and a quarter inches, willow-swishy. Perfect for charms work." Mr. Ollivander chuckled and sized Harry up in a way that made Harry shift and Jim uneasy. His eyes landed on Jim-narrowing in thought. "And you?"

"I'd like a wand as well, please…my old one was…damaged severely." Mr. Ollivander looked unconvinced, but said nothing else.

He brought them wands, growing more and more excited as each failed-wands flew off the walls, sparks flew, the ends of wands smoked and more than one exploded in someone's grip, only to be snatched away. Seb sat down and watched as the spectacle went on, wondering just what the hell had happened to his life, in a completely non serious way. Ollivander was the type to mumble to himself as it went, and if a muggle out of the loop heard what he said, they would have called the men in white coats to retrieve him, without a doubt.

"No, not hazel and dragonheart string."

"Too swishy..."

"Of course phoenix feathers won't work for you..."

"Not the mystic type I take it?"

Jim, remarkably found his wand first; the sparks that flew from it were different, more like stars, as a matter of fact, that gleamed and stayed where they were in mid air. Jim's hands tightened around the wand protectively, baring his teeth at Ollivander when he reached for it- the wandmaker chuckled and explained, "walnut, sturdy, fwooper and hippogriff feathers; a very exotic wand, sir. I make them occasionally, but most of the materials aren't native to Britain- many of our wizards don't think of them when getting a wand." Jim accepted it, but refused to let him have it back, immediately handing over the 10 galleons the wand cost.

Harry, however, was a very tricky customer, apparently. Mr. Ollivander brought out a wand at one point that must have been different, because he handed it over with special reverence, and looked at Harry with surprise when that wand blew into smithereens in Harry's grip. He looked at Harry again-this time, apparently seeing Harry differently, before wandering into the back of the store. He tore through the boxes furiously, making quite the racket.

"What if I can't find a wand?" Harry asked Jim quietly, the insecurity there broke Jim's heart, but he tutted.

"Oh, darling. You've never needed a wand to do magic before. It'll just be one more way you're special." Seb silently congratulated Jimmy on the successful comforting of their son. They'd discuss it later...maybe over a candlelit dinner...or a dead body, like that whore from F&B.

Ollivander came rushing out, then, panting, "I believe I may have found it, Mr. Potter! Come then, try it." Ollivander pressed it into his hand, and just like that, Harry knew; wind whistled through the shop, the wand warmed and cooled in his grip. He held the wood protectively to his chest when he looked at Ollivander again, silently begging for it not to be taken away. "Another rare customer! Kaya, dragon heartstring, 12 inches sturdy. A very, very unusual combination, for a very, very unusual customer." Moriarty didn't like the amused gleam in Ollivander's eye as he paid the man for the second wand, and the two jars of wax, or the two care kits.

The bell rang behind them loudly, and Harry got the feeling that it was less of an exit, and more of a starting gunshot.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A brief explaination from the last chapter; gombeen is an Irish insult for a very annoying man.
> 
> Thank you pottermore for your information on wandlore, and a more in depth explanation of Jim and Harry's wands;
> 
> Kaya - A lovely yellow wandwood of Japanese origin, it is extremely rare in British wandmaking. However, those bonded to Kaya wands will find their abilities in logical arts, such as Potions, Astronomy, Ancient Runes, and Arithmancy, boosted.
> 
> Walnut – A beautiful, strong, and versatile wood. Unlike black walnut, it has no slant towards Light or Dark.
> 
> Dragon heartstring(s)
> 
> Dragon heartstring is a powerful wand with a lot of magical "heft". It is not the core you want for subtlety, but for sheer power it is definitely the best. Although it is the most common core among Dark Wizards, Dark Wizards are most certainly not their most common users. Dragon heartstrings are by far the most common wand core amongst Slytherins, but their power often bonds to Gryffindors and Ravenclaws as well. However, they tend to overwhelm the archetypal Hufflepuff personality.
> 
> Fwooper feather(s)
> 
> Fwooper feather wands are said to be a mark of ill omen for the wizards they bond to, as, like the birds they come from, they are rumored to slowly drive their wielder mad. Despite their poor reputation, they do well with Charms and Care of Magical Creatures. However, they have a near-inability to castQuietus. They are commonly combined with another feather core, such as the phoenix for health or the hippogriff for stability.
> 
> Hippogriff feather(s)
> 
> Hippogriffs are noble animals with a reputation for not taking a slight. These wands require constant respect, and if the wielder does not give it, they can watch its formerly stable and versatile magic backfire on it. It is not the strongest core, but it is one of the most adaptable. These wands are most common amongst Gryffindors, but they are rare overall.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeez, I'm so sorry that this took so long- I had school and then I couldn't figure out how I wanted to begin the chapter, and then life got in the way. God, I'm so sorry; I kept meaning to put this together, but…ah, well. 
> 
> Anyway, I want to reassure everyone who reads this and then posted their concerns over the matter that this will not be a saint!Hermione story; frankly, I don't care for her as a character, or in the least, how she was presented through the series. For more on the matter, and I why I did what I did, please read the A/N at the bottom. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's commented so far, I love you all, you guys kept me going!
> 
> I don't own Harry Potter or Sherlock, or any characters from the aforementioned series'. Please forgive any spelling or grammatical error, I try and I try, but SpellCheck misses things, and as yet I have no beta.
> 
> If anyone has any opinions on where the story should head, please feel free to suggest in either the reviews, or send me a PM.

Sebastian's fears of being left behind once Jim and Harry began studying were silenced for good after that night, after it became obvious that Jim's skills in cooking, or lack thereof, also extended to potion making (Sebastian wondered if Jim was doing it on purpose; the man could plan and build a bomb that could take out a building but he couldn't make a pot of pasta without destroying the kitchen or, on one occasion, burning the eyebrows off of a visiting Severin)- so Sebastian took over that part of Harry's education.

For the rest of the summer, Sebastian and Jim threw themselves into teaching Harry all that could be learned-including twice weekly visits to Diagon Ally for interactions with others. Harry, who had never quite gotten over the discomfort he felt around large crowds or people he did not know, had to force himself to look at it as information mining like Sebastian did for Jim.

Slowly, magic seemed to take over their household; Sebastian often had potion's ingredients laid out in the kitchen, textbooks, ink bottles, quills and parchment seemed to next and breed in the corners; as the days drew on and Jim learned household magic, he started enchanting and spelling everything that he could (everything that wasn't in the kitchen anyway, because both Sebastian and Harry refused). Jim even debated with connecting their fireplaces with the Floo Network- it would be convenient, if nothing else- but decided that he wouldn't until he could ward them so no one could get through (according to Wizarding Etiquette, it was _polite_ to ask permission to come through or call, not required), because he didn't trust anyone else to do it.

As the summer breathed it's last and Harry's date for departure drew closer, the household seemed to swell with energy, rather than burning itself out; this was especially remarkable for the strange hours that Jim had begun to keep. Because his pride refused to let him linger behind Harry in magical education, Jim regularly stayed up until dawn, tearing through his own textbooks like a devil, and slept past noon. This worked out in the end, because it gave Seb the opportunity to spend private time with his soon, and made Harry's morning 'lessons' consist of Everday Magical behavior, Customs and Potions-because no Moriarty was going to be average.

Harry managed to settle on a name for his owl after nearly a week of debate with his fathers where names were often thrown out to Harry in the most random order (Jim's ideas (Eris, Harbinger, etc) were politely ignored); he chose the name of the owl from his History of Magic textbook, and soon Hedwig had free reign of the house, more or less. The owl flitted in and out of the house, often bringing with her dead mice and lizards; Jim wondered where she found them, but was pleased that she knew how to care for herself.

Harry studied and practiced without his wand, and occasionally without wands. Sebastian was the first to encourage this (although Jim joined in once he'd heard of it); he'd been the one to notice that every witch and wizard in the Ally and the Leaky Cauldron were completely reliant upon their wands. Immediately he realized just how big of a flaw this was for Wizard kind, and how Harry needed to remember that he had cast strong magic by his will alone before he'd gotten the wand itself.

Jim had heard Sebastian's opinion and began doing his own research; the wand, as it turned out, was not the source of magic that everyone seemed to view it as, rather it acted as a sort of lightning rod for a person's magical core- it focused and amplified magic itself. Apparently, though, the less that a wizard or a witch cast magic without a wand, the more their magical core atrophied, eventually to the point that it became nearly impossible and weakened their magic as a whole. "The trick," Jim observed and reported to Sebby, "is not to begin doing it in the first place." Admittedly, however, the problem was that the same amount of energy required to cast a spell with a wand wouldn't cut it without one. Jim himself practiced without his at least an hour everyday- he also discovered rather quickly he was quite skilled at transfiguration and absolute rubbish at charms (the result of that being Jim either obsessing over his charm's books or ignoring the matter completely).

In all that time, Harry had heard nearly nothing from Hermione, and saw her even less- the few times he managed to catch her on the phone, a distracted voice would appear five minutes in and she would grasp for any opportunity to hop off the line. Harry figured that she must have gotten her letter and was preparing for the school year (but that didn't make it hurt any less). Harry just let her go when the tone appeared in her voice, and ignored just how much it hurt that she would drop him so easily.

It felt wrong, though, to not even have the option of calling Hermione and get excited about the train, or about lessons (because he knew that she was getting ready too)-but Harry didn't want to be that friend who overstayed his welcome.

The night before he was set to leave for King's Cross, Jim and Seb helped Harry pack up his trunk. His things were taken out, checked against the list and repacked at least 3 times. Hedwig watched everything irritably- she was in her cage for the night, and didn't appreciate the restricted freedom. Finally, when his robes were refolded, his jeans were repacked and his shirts rolled up (to prevent wrinkles), Harry got ready for bed.

Jim called for Indian, and kissed Seb on the cheek softly when he got off the phone, before he slipped upstairs to talk to Harry.

He found Harry on his bed, in his charms book, practicing a wand movement; some sort of swish and flick that Jim recognized a first year levitation charm. Harry didn't actually notice him until he shut the door, and then he turned his emerald gaze on his father.

"What's up, Dad?"

"Oh, nothing! I just came to talk to you, is all." At the raised eyebrow that he got, Jim could only laugh. He sat down beside his son on the bed and folded his hands on his lap neatly. Neither spoke for a minute before Harry began getting nervous and decided to move things along.

"What did you want to talk about?" He wondered if this was a game. He had to be the one to get the ball rolling though, to figure it out.

"School." At Harry's look, Jim chuckled. "Fine, I want to talk to you about Hermione, actually."

"What about her?" Jim mentally applauded himself; Harry's tone revealed nothing- he'd taught the boy well.

"What are you going to do about her?"

Harry had hoped his father wouldn't bring it up; Jim had never liked Hermione. Hermione was too boring for him- even her intelligence wasn't a saving grace for Jim- it only seemed to damn her more. "I'd hoped that I wouldn't have to do anything about her." Harry finally admitted, and Jim wondered if it was youth that made his, usually brilliant, son so naïve.

"We've talked about how wizards view you before," Jim began, and Harry's lip curled in disgust; that conversation had been awkward and confusing. Jim was unable to fill in many of the blank spots, leaving their understanding shaky and filled with gaps. The summary, as the family knew it anyhow, was enough; Voldemort attacked the Potter's home with the intention of killing the family, succeeding in dispatching Lily and James Potter, but failing when it came to Harry, ultimately getting himself killed in the process, somehow. The wizarding world had latched onto Harry as a savior, dubbing him the Boy-Who-Lived and becoming a public symbol of strength. In the last decade alone, dozens of books had been printed, detailing Harry 'adventures', where he was now, what his life had been since that fateful night; these books had been the manager of Flourish Blott's suggestion when Jim had requested consisted favorites and bestsellers. Harry was still trying to decide if he was going to sue for slander and libel, but it was in line behind the bigger decision of pressing charges against Dumbledore.

"Hermione isn't like that!" Harry protested vehemently, "we've known each other for years now- she knows the real Harry Moriarty."

"Alright," Jim said, deciding on a new tactic, "I'm glad that you think you can trust her," seeing Harry open his mouth to disagree, Jim ploughed on, "but you need to understand that she might not live up to your expectations." Harry's forehead crumpled at the thought, "if push comes to shove, will you be able to do what needs to be done?"

"Dad! I'm not going to take a hit out on Hermione!" Harry burst out and Jim laughed at the red shade his son's face took on.

"I didn't mean it like that, Harry. Can you at least understand why I'm concerned?" Harry shook his head no and Jim began slowly, choosing his words carefully. "Unlike yourself, little Hermione Granger is boring. She trusts authority, she likes the rules and she doesn't ask questions. If it's in print or said by someone in more power than herself, she'll take it no questions asked. Her creativity is stunted, and she has no sense of adventure-what doubt she has is so warped that it's for the wrong things. If she reads those books about Harry Potter, or about what a good wizard Dumbledore is, what do you think that she'll do?

Harry didn't want to think about it-but he did. Dad had a point-but what endeared him to Hermione were the things that his father was condemning her for; Hermione represented everything normal and average that Harry could never have (even though a very small part of him did). Some days all Harry could think about was a life without crime, without secrets or even magic. A life where he could be Just Harry.

Not that he'd ever admit it to Jim.

Who was still watching him, waiting for an answer.

"I understand." Harry hated how weak and small his response was, but, in a rare moment of sentimentality, Jim put an arm around his son's shoulders and pulled him close.

"You tend to think the best of people, Harry. I can respect that, even if I can't always reciprocate. You need to learn to temper that with fire though; the ones who are most likely to hurt you will, and once they do it a first time, you can be sure that they'll do it again." Jim told him quietly, petting his hair. Harry looked up and saw that Jim was away somewhere in his head again.

Sometimes he wondered what the inside of Jim's head looked like, but not often and not for long. Jim had a right to his own secrets and his own demons, and Harry wasn't curious enough to want them himself.

"I love you, Dad." Harry said, finally.

"Love you too, son." Jim grinned impishly at him and stood. "You feel like dinner?" Harry shook his head, Jim shrugged. "Suit yourself. Don't stay up to late, alright?" Harry nodded and watched his father leave. He had a lot of thinking to do.

* * *

An hour later, everyone was settling down for bed. Dressed down in a pair of boxers and faded wife beater, Sebastian emerged from the bathroom freshly showered and strangely exhausted.

Sebastian watched Jim eye the cork board filled with writing and moving pictures. It was nearly 10 o'clock, and he was ready for bed. Jim wasn't in his pajamas yet. He'd been standing there for ten minutes looking at his notes (written in his own coded shorthand). "We need to find Sirius." Jim exclaimed suddenly, making Seb look at him. Was he talking to himself, the wall or Seb?

"Sirius?" Seb finally prompted; Jim nodded.

"Sirius Black."

"Relation?" Jim nodded, finally turning his head. His gaze wasn't dark and dangerous, Seb noted, but muted and thoughtful. "My mother's oldest broher's son. He's Harry's godfather, as appointed by James Potter. He's also the only one with any legal claim on Harry, since Alice Longbottom is permanently out of commission."

"Oh yeah, where is he, then?" He couldn't be that good of a guardian if he'd never tried to locate his own godson.

"Prison." Jim stated matter-of-factly, making Sebastian raise an eyebrow. Noticing Seb's raised eyebrow, Jim began to exlpain, "Sirius ratted out the Potter's to Voldemort; another friend went after him and got himself killed when Sirius blew up a street, all they found of him was his finger apparently." Jim wondered if he should hire the man.

"How long's his sentence?"

"He doesn't have one." Jim replied, reaching up and tacking something to the board. "He didn't get a trial."

"How the hell didn't he get one?"

"Most of Voldemort's 'supporters' weren't. He'd just disappeared, the Ministry was in an uproar-I've no doubt that the aurors went where they were pointed by real Death Eaters. Theoretically there are quite a few innocent men sweating away in hell under false charges." Sebastian heaved a long suffering sigh and fixed Jim with a look so strong that his husband turned to look at him again.

"Must you keep using Sweeney Todd references?" Jim laughed and crossed the room to climb into Sebastian's lap on the bed.

"Of course! But you must admit, Tiger, we could run one hell of a Pie Emporium." Jim kissed him on the forehead making Seb smile just a bit.

"We'd certainly do better than Mrs. Lovett."

"Of course!" Jim's expression sobered. "We have to do something about Black-he's sitting in prison for something he didn't do, probably, and rumor has it he was in Dumbledore's little vigilante group. I don't like how this looks-why is it that Sirius didn't get any representation from Dumbledore of all people?"

"It's suspicious," Sebastian agreed quietly.

Dumbledore had advocated for many Death Eaters and their ilk, including one Severus Snape (who was also Harry's potion professor); Dumbledore went so far as to **publicly** claim that he was spying on Voldemort with his help. Jim wondered just what the fuck was wrong with the wizarding world that they looked to a man who made such an obvious blunder. The records and the hearing were public matter, and yet no one protested Snape's presence at the school.

"I smell a rat," Seb said and then went back to paying attention to his husband, who was currently sliding cool, slim hands beneath his T-shirt.

* * *

The next morning seemed almost anticlimactic compared to the nervous energy of the night before. Harry had slept all night but still felt exhausted and nervous, and even Jim felt twitchy at the upcoming separation. Breakfast was plain oatmeal that no one could make themselves eat. Harry remained quiet and clung close to his Dads the whole morning until they left at 9:30.

Jim (dressed as a mature Jim from IT outfit) drove for once, and filled the car with idle chatter that took everyone's mind off the day; Hedwig trilled inside her cage and nipped affectionately at Harry's fingers when he reached in to stroke her feathers. Sebastian personally had taken a shine to the beast (Jim had once caught him feeding her raw hamburger meat), and she welcomed all attentions where they were due.

The station was crowded as they made their way toward platform 9 with a notice-me-not charm on some of Harry's luggage (Jim looked for any chance to show off). Jim himself kept an eye out for anyone obviously magical, and was disgusted with how little care they showed to exorcise some fucking discretion. For Christ's sake, the family behind them had an owl and 5 children, all with luggage and flaming red hair, and they kept spouting about Hogwarts and the platform. He thought of warning Harry to stay away from them, but figured that his son would figure it out for himself.

As they stepped up and through the barrier, Jim wondered just why that family followed so closely behind them.

It had occurred to them 3 weeks ago that Hagrid hadn't told them exactly where to find platform nine and three-quarters. It was fairly easy to find out, as a quick jot down to the ally revealed, but Jim didn't like it. Who forgot to mention something so vital? He had no doubts that Hagrid was just that stupid, but it made him question Dumbledore's decisions all the more if he sent someone so forgetful to do something so important.

And furthermore would that family behind them just shut up!

The redheads were making such a racket that Jim didn't notice the actual station for a moment, but once he did, all bets were off. Unlike the rest of King's Cross, platform nine and three quarters still looked turn of the century, rather than sleek and chromatic. This place hadn't changed at all since it was first built. It had it's own charm, much like Diagon Ally; dirty bricks and cobblestones. The place was crowded already, and the train itself, the Hogwarts Express Jim supposed, took up the whole of it; a great scarlet steam engine that was belching out smoke and hissing at the crowd of robed figures that were trying to pry off their snot nosed children.

"Well, this is it!" Jim said, putting forth a false bravado that made him a little ill. "Quaint." Harry cracked a smile.

"I think it's brilliant." Jim popped the back of his head playfully and let Harry lead them forward.

Despite the people, not many were on the train yet, so Harry had his pick of compartments; he chose an empty one near the middle. Sebastian heaved the trunk into the luggage rack and mentally took note. The compartment was actually quite lovely; the seats looked deep, the floor was clean and the material looked comfortable. Nothing was sticky-unlike most armrests in coach.

Harry didn't want to stay on the train, instead they observed arrivals. A small blonde family that refused to associate with anyone, an imposing older woman who verbally tore apart what must have been her grandson (in public. because he lost a fucking _toad_ ), among others. As the minutes ticked by, the crowds got thicker, and the faces began to blur together. Harry couldn't find Hermione-maybe she wasn't a witch after all.

The whistle blew, and what had been nervous tension and fond greetings became tearful and frantic goodbyes. Spurred on by the moment, Harry wrapped himself around Sebastian's legs and buried his face in Seb's stomach.

"I'm scared." Harry admitted; Jim saw where this was headed and looked away, giving them a limited amount of privacy. Sebastian; immovable, emotional rock though he is, feels a twinge of discomfort as well. That voice was too similar to the one from the boy in the cupboard, the one that Harry had mostly grown out of in his years with them. Sebastian got down on his knees-eye level with his son. Harry took advantage of the new position and hugged him round the shoulders. Seb let him for a moment before gently pulling the boy away and meeting his eyes.

"You are Harry Moriarty. You'll be fine-write to us as soon as you can; keep your head down but don't hesitate to act if that's what needs to be done. We've got your back, Harry, even if we aren't right beside you. Understand me?" Seb's voice was gentle but firm; full of emotion for him, and Harry felt his eyes sting.

"Well said, Tiger." Jim mumbled to himself. Harry cleared his throat and steeled himself, straightening his back. But he went in for one more hug.

Seb indulged him. Who knew if he'd get the chance again?

Another whistle and Jim gave Harry a quick peck on the top of the head before the boy was running to the train as the doors began slamming shut (he was far from the only one, though, so it was alright). Harry boarded the train and ran to his compartment, ducking around people and shoving them out of his way if he needed to. He noticed another in the seat opposite to him, but didn't pay any mind; he pulled the window open and leaned out it, waving wildly at his Dads.

Parents and children were both shouting good-byes and I love you's, parents were running up to windows and thrusting last minute items at the children about to leave, siblings too young watched stoically or in tears and wailing voices; this was the sort of chaos Jim once found comfort in, but it left him empty.

As the train pulled away with a jerk, Harry watched and followed them with his eyes, although he didn't wave. Jim stepped closer to his husband, and Seb put an arm about his waist in comfort. The train moved painfully slowly, and Seb fought the urge to hop on while he could. It approached the curve, and then, just like that, Harry was gone.

Seb pretended not to notice Jim's watery eyes, but he did wrap him tight in his arms, pulling him close; as if Sebastians bulk could cover the pain, or protect Jim from it.

* * *

Harry closed the window smartly, taking deep breaths to recover his composure. The boy opposite him was several years older, with dark hair and bright grey eyes. He was physically attractive, Harry noticed, though it didn't make much of a difference to _him,_ Harry knew that the other boy was at the age when opposite genders begin to notice each other.

"First year?" The other boy offered kindly; he didn't have his robes on yet, instead dressed innocuously in a long sleeve and jeans. "I'm in 4th. It's okay to be upset, I cried the whole train ride." Harry wondered what house he was in to expose something so personal so quickly. But the sentiment was much appreciated.

"I didn't think it'd be so hard." Harry finally admitted. The boy shrugged.

"It's not-until you round the bend and realize "I'm on my own until the Christmas hols", then it sinks in." The boy scooted forward and extended his hand. "I'm Cedric Diggory, of Hufflepuff." Ah

"Harry Moriarty." Harry took his hand and shook it; the boy was polite, and there were worse people to sit with the whole of the journey.

"What house do you hope to be in?"

"Doesn't matter. Honestly, it seems like there's too much fuss over it." Cedric smiled broadly, and shrugged again.

"People like to think they can categorize each other. I just have an issue with them doing it so early; it's a self-fulfilling prophecy." Harry decided that this boy was interesting.

They passed an hour in comfortable silence, Cedric letting his cat (her name was Wendolyn, after the famous witch in one of the more damaging witch burnings in Northern Europe) out to bathe in the sun streaming in from the window. She wasn't particularly friendly, but she didn't object when Harry reached out to stroke her head-she only gave him an impatient sidelong look until he stopped. Cedric didn't try to influence Harry's choice of Houses, explaining the good qualities in _all_. Harry found it refreshing, and decided to see if he could keep Cedric on his side of things-the boy was unusually clever, no genius of course, but he was very observant, and very fair. A perfect neutral party.

A knock on the door revealed a chubby boy with thick dark hair and round face; he looked ready to cry. "Have either of you seen a toad? His name is Trevor, and I can't find him."

"Sorry, he hasn't been in here. Have you looked in the bathrooms?" The boy brightened and thanked them profusely for the suggestion, before leaving them again.

"Poor bloke, who gets their boy a toad anymore?" Cedric asked, shaking his head. Harry laughed a bit-he enjoyed the sincerity that Cedric exuded.

The door opened without knocking this time, the intruder halting as soon as she caught sight of Harry, who stood immediately.

"Hermione!" Harry exclaimed, she grinned and rushed forward to hug him.

"I'm sorry, Harry! I didn't know for sure but I suspected but that wasn't enough and then I found out about Harry Potter and oh Harry is it true?" She said all of this very fast. Harry's stomach seemed to drop a bit; so she had read the books. But, he reasoned, that didn't mean that she was buying into everything, right?

"Is what true, Hermione?" Harry asked finally, giving her a barely there smile that didn't come close to reaching his eyes.

"Are you really Harry Potter?" He hears Cedric suck in a surprised breath behind them, but doesn't dare look at him. "You have the scar, but you told me it was from an accident when you were a baby, remember? And the first time I met you, you called yourself Potter back then." She supplied helpfully.

"I didn't feel comfortable calling myself Moriarty yet-my dads had only just adopted me." He admitted, Hermione nodded eagerly.

"Oh Harry, why didn't you tell me you were the Boy-Who-Lived?" She demanded, and Harry felt something die a little bit inside.

"I'm not." He replied flatly.

"Of course you are! Why, you defeated-"

"Hermione, does it occur to you that I was 15 months old? How the hell could I have killed a Dark Wizard responsible for terrorizing the UK?" Harry demanded; he stood up straight and looked her dead in the eye; Jim told him that when you disputed with someone, you always met their eyes, otherwise you looked weak (and besides, sometimes it made them look weak when they didn't know where to look).

"What else could have happened, then?" Hermione demanded, putting her hands on her hips.

"Oh I don't know, 'Mione, maybe _the fully grown witch and trained_ _**AUROR** _ did something."

"But Dumbledore said it was you!" Hermione cried. "Harry, why are you denying this? Why don't you use your last name?"

"Because I'm not Harry Potter!" Harry finally exploded, making Hermione take a step back. "Harry Potter died in a cupboard under the stairs and left a shell. That shell became Harry Moriarty, and I refuse to go back!" Hermione's face got red and she gritted her teeth.

Just as she opened her mouth, however, Cedric stepped between them. "I think you should leave." He suggested, making Harry looked up at the older boy in surprise. Unlike before, Cedric's voice was cold as steel; just like his eyes.

"But-"

"Leave now, before I get the prefects." Hermione flushed red and seemed to think about it, before turning on her heel and fleeing, her fear of trouble winning out over her desire to convert Harry to her way of thinking. But she did slam the compartment door shut hard enough to crack the glass.

Harry felt sick, and mad that his father was right, but mostly sick. He swallowed and glanced at Cedric nervously. Cedric just looked at him, waiting for either an explanation or a dismissal. After several moments of looking at the younger boy, Cedric finally said, "what did you mean, about the 'cupboard' thing?"

Harry felt heavy, worn out. Haltingly, he explained as well as he could in his nervous state, about the Dursley's, about his Father rescuing him (though he left out their consequent murder), and taking him home to his Dad. Cedric listened patiently, nodding thoughtfully or wincing, smiling a bit as the story went on.

"Well?" Harry finally said, looking at Cedric to either reject him or jump on the BWL bandwagon.

"I think that that girl was barking up the wrong tree. You'd do well to keep your distance from her until she either calms down or gets over herself." There was a knock on the door, which revealed a plump, pleasant looking witch with grey curls, pushing a snack cart.

"Anything off the trolley?" She asked, Cedric got up and began selecting sweets, Harry joined him, getting a bit of everything and paying. The witch smiled broadly at their appetites, nodded good day and continued down the train, humming.

Armed with sweets, Cedric and Harry swapped stories and experiences (Harry's were carefully edited, so that he didn't reveal anything about Jim). Cedric didn't comment on the BWL thing, and Harry didn't bring it up. It might not have been healthy, but it was an arrangement that Harry preferred. The day wore on, and the two were comfortable; either Cedric didn't have many friends, or they didn't bother looking for him, because after Hermione no one came in to bother them again.

The rolling hills that they passed were very picturesque, and as they rounded bends, Harry wondered where in the country they were, and how Muggles didn't see the train. He wondered a lot of things that afternoon, and he shared some of it witch Cedric, who began to notice the time when he glanced out the window himself and saw the horizon.

"We should change, we'll be there very soon." Harry trusted his expertise on the matter, and the two changed, facing away from one another.

"Can you tell me what to expect when we get to Hogwarts? I know about the sorting hat, but does the train pull directly up to the school or..."

"No, we pull into the station. Because I'm a fourth year, I'll be in the carriages. You will be in boats; make sure you duck when Hagrid tells you to, and try not to be the one to fall into the lake; someone does every year." Cedric smiled good-naturedly, just as the conductor announced they would be arriving in 10 minutes and to please leave all luggage in the train, all possessions will be brought up to the castle.

* * *

They got off the train and Cedric walked towards the carriages, though not before giving Harry an encouraging smile that made him feel a little better. Harry himself followed the throng of students, led by Hagrid, towards the water. The boats were small ones, dinghy's, if Harry remembered correctly. They were all tied together, so, Harry assumed, no one floated off.

"Four to a boat!" Hagrid shouted over the nervous excitement, waving a lantern Harry, nervous of being in a boat with Hermione, hopped into the one that had toad boy, who introduced himself as Neville Longbottom. The next ones in the boat were the blonde boy from the station, and a redhead who had no other boat to enter (but didn't look pleased at being seated with the blonde; to be fair, the other boy didn't look at all happy either). The boat was silent, unlike others; Harry was positive that he heard Hermione near by, but didn't turn to look (although the instinct nearly killed him).

Hagrid was in the front boat, and, in the darkness, shouted duck! Everyone, even the ones in the back boats, did as told, only looking up once the last of the trailing ivy had passed up their necks (but Harry wanted to know what genius had put the low bridge there in the first place). They rounded the bend, and Harry was struck speechless, the castle was massive!

Easily the size of Buckingham Palace, the castle, on the outside, had none of it's careful and delicate charm; blocky stone that pierced the starless sky like arrows, the lighted windows shining like stars themselves, reflected off the black lake. It was all turrets and towers and ivy and stained glass; really, all it needed was a dragon, and it could have served as something from a fairy tale.

Harry wondered if it was magic or irony that made everything in the wizarding world so much lovelier than it's muggle counterpart.

They glided into the docks, and carefully stepped out of the boats, assisted in some cases by Hagrid, who carefully lifted the smaller ones up himself. "Oy!" Hagrid shouted over the din, "whose toad is this?!" Neville darted forward eagerly, cradling the thing close.

Harry gave him a look that made him flinch.

"His name's Trevor." Neville explained, Harry shrugged. "My great-uncle Algie bought him for me, once I got my letter."

"Why a toad? Why not an owl?"

"They...they've been thinking I wasn't magical, since I was little. I didn't have much accidental magic, y'see. Anyway, they thought, because it came so late to the date of enrollment confirmation, that I didn't have much magic anyway." Neville confided, looking at Harry from under his bangs.

"That's stupid." Harry scoffed, just as the mass of kids began surging forward, up the steps to the massive doors. "Just because you don't have much accidental magic doesn't mean you're a squib. My Dad's never had any, and he's just as powerful as anyone, if not more." Neville looked absolutely stunned at the idea, and gaped at Harry openly.

"Look, what kind of wand do you have?"

"Er, it's my Dad's. My Gran insisted, said it'd bring me luck-make me stronger, because he was a great wizard..." Neville blushed and looked away, like he'd said something he shouldn't.

"Well there's your problem! You can't use someone else's wand, it won't work right! Write your Gran and tell her to go ask Ollivander about it- or she could just look it up in a book."

"I-thank you! Um," He struggled, trying to think of whether or not Harry'd told him his name.

"Harry," Harry reminded, gently, "Harry Moriarty."

"Right, thank you Harry."

Hagrid smiled down at them before turning to knock on the door. It opened, revealing a middle aged witch in emerald robes with graying hair, square spectacles and a stern set to her lips. "Thank you Hagrid, I'll take them from here." He nodded, and stepped aside, letting everyone in.

They were ushered into a large hall, the ceiling so high that Harry couldn't make out the ceiling. Unlike the outside, though, the inside of Hogwarts was lovely and sculpted. Portraits moved and waved, going from frame to frame. The witch stood on the stairs to get a better look at them and began by introducing herself as "Deputy Headmistress, Professor McGonagall."

"You are about to be sorted into the house you belong in. While you stay in Hogwarts, your House will be your four houses are Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor and Slytherin. Each have their own qualities, and you will go in the one best suited to you. Behave and do well, and you will earn points. Disobey, and you will lose them. The House in the lead will win the House Cup." McGonagall stepped down and went into what must have been the Great Hall, according to Harry's books.

Everyone began talking at once, and Harry took the opportunity to take a deep breath and steady himself.

Jim and Sebastian would accept him no matter where he went. He didn't care. He'd go where he was best suited, that was all there was to it.

A shriek echoed in the hall, and everyone turned as several ghosts drifted through, barely turning to glance at them. Harry thought that was rather stupid; if you were going to spend an eternity in one place, couldn't you afford to be polite?

The doors opened, and McGonagall stood there, this time smiling a bit. "We're ready."

They entered, feeling small; four long tables extended most of the gargantuan room, filled with people all older than them. Harry sought Cedric's eye and waved, glad that he got a returning wave as well. The ceiling reflected the black night as well. Candles gloated above, giving the room a flickering firelight feel, and a fifth long table was at the end of the room, filled with adults, including one wizened face that Harry knew from his History textbooks.

Dumbledore.

The benevolent bastard smiled welcomingly as they approached the front of the hall, where a weathered old hat that was faded and frayed, a large rip in the seam, sat on a stool. Oh, so this was the sorting hat? How...gross. Couldn't they afford to wash and mend the damn thing? The rehead mumbled to a sandy haired boy that someone had lied and said they'd have to wrestle with a troll.

_And then the seam opened, and belted out an opening note._

_Oh you may not think I'm pretty,_

_But don't judge on what you see,_

_I'll eat myself if you can find_

_A smarter hat than me._   
_You can keep your bowlers black,_

_Your top hats sleek and tall,_

_For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

_And I can cap them all._   
_There's nothing hidden in your head_

_The Sorting Hat can't see,_

_So try me on and I will tell you_

_Where you ought to be._   
_You might belong in Gryffindor,_

_Where dwell the brave at heart,_

_Their daring, nerve, and chivalry_

_Set Gryffindors apart;_   
_You might belong in Hufflepuff,_

_Where they are just and loyal,_

_Those patient Hufflepuffs are true_

_And unafraid of toil;_   
_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw, if you've a ready mind,_

_Where those of wit and learning,_

_Will always find their kind;_   
_Or perhaps in Slytherin_

_You'll make your real friends,_

_Those cunning folks use any means_

_To achieve their ends._   
_So put me on!_

_Don't be afraid!_

_And don't get in a flap!_

_You're in safe hands (though I have none)_

_For I'm a Thinking Cap!_

A went up, and even Harry thought that it was rather impressive. McGonagall raised a hand, and noise died down.

"When I call your name, please come up and put on the hat." McGonagall looked at the parchment in her hand.

"Bones, Susan!" A fair haired girl in pigtails meandered up, pale and sweaty.

"Hufflepuff!"Cedric's table went wild and began clapping and cheering.

Harry watched several more 'Puff's, 3 Slytherin's, and two Ravenclaws and 4 Gryffindors before he was called up, although the name they said made him want to sink into the floor.

"Potter, Harry!"

And just like that, all eyes were on him. He wanted to correct them, cry out, "it's Moriarty! It's what I was signed up as!" But instead, he stood straight and walked up to the hat, a bored sort of cool on his face. He risked a glance at Dumbledore and saw him look disquiet.

_Good_ , Harry thought.

He sat down and set the hat on his head, and suddenly he could see nothing.

**_"My, my-what a strange mind you have, Mr. Moriarty. It's quite refreshing after several hundred years. Very loud too, but then, with your parents I shouldn't wonder. Now, lets see here, oh how lovely, a little mixture of everything! You're very brave, but not the bravery of Gryffindor; besides, you'd likely slaughter them before the night was out. You're intelligent, a genius (but then you knew that, didn't you?), but you wouldn't quite fit in with the Ravenclaws. They'd be too boring, I suspect. So no. And cunning, so cunning; just like Jim-willing to cut most losses to get ahead, but then, you do what's best to who you're loyal too. Oh, you'd give your right hand for those who win your trust! So hard working-Seb's work, then..._ **

**_"Better_ be..."**

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

There was dead silence, before finally Cedric stood up and began to cheer, followed by the rest of the table, all of whom smiled broadly at him, not like they'd won the lottery, but like they were just glad to have him.

Harry stood, stiffly put down the hat, and then walked to his table.

He looked up at McGonagall, who stuttered her way through the next name, and then Dumbledore; who was white with shock and scarlet with anger.

Harry smiled.

* * *

Jim jolted awake from his spot on the couch and looked around; he got the uncomfortable feeling that something had gone positively right, and he had forgotten. It drove him mad. Finally the genius picked up his cell and arranged for a few murders-that would cheer him up, to send Sherly into a tailspin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, Hermione rides the bandwagon in every HP book there is; in CoS, she doesn't bother to reassure Harry about being a parseltongue, or look into it, she just tells him to keep his mouth shut. In GoF, she didn't bother to believe him either. The fact is that Hermione is swayed by the masses and what is written down; she's all logic and little creativity, unlike Jim and Harry. I don't care for Hermione, at all, so please, don't accuse me of making her a good character before the story gets started.
> 
> I put Cedric in there because that poor bastard got the short end of the stick.
> 
> Reviews make me smile!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Hello, all! I'm so proud of everyone for reviewing and faving and following! Thank you all so much! This story officially belongs to 44 communities! Yay! We are also the first one under the filter if you search for a crossover between HP and Sherlock, under the Moriarty tag (if you go by the amount of follows, that is)! Let's get those numbers up if we can!
> 
> I'm glad that so many people were accepting of the Hufflepuff thing, really. Part of it was the amount of support for that house, part of it was the reasons that I received. I was honestly blown away by them, and I encourage you to take a look at those reviews if you have time.
> 
> Also, for those Hermione lovers who are reading this, my opinion on Hermione in my last A/N was...harsh, looking back on it, I admit. Have no fear though, although I'm trying to do this the best I can, I promise that Hermione will get a redemption before the story's over. Have heart-she won't undergo much bashing, really; I'm just trying to correct some serious character flaws that I see in her for the first few years. Admittedly, she became a badass in year 7, but she was a wuss in year 6, and she was in the middle of a war. In that situation either you step up or get out of the way, or get killed. Anyway, things will get better for her in here.

Later that night, in his new bed, Harry reflected that Hufflepuff wasn't that bad of a house to be in-it was rather nice actually.

The dorms were located in the dungeons, though far away from the Slytherins. The Hufflepuff dorm, the Head Girl, an Elizabeth Demetres, explained once inside, was next to the kitchens, whereas the Slytherins were on the other side of the dungeons. The dorms and the common room were _warm_ , not just in temperature but in atmosphere; there was a fireplace in the common room large enough to roast a reindeer, where a fire cheerfully crackled. Overstuffed couches, plush chairs and stools were scattered, all of them keeping with the colors of the house; yellow and black (though, Harry noticed, they substituted black with a deep, rich brown, when it suited them). Harry was rather startled of how the place resembled his mental images of Bag End. The House Elves in the kitchens often provided snacks and company to those in need, you only had to call, Elizabeth assured warmly. Harry wondered if the food at beck and call was the reason for the...rounder figures of some of the older puffs.

The boy's dorm was divided by years, and Harry shared his room with several other friendly sorts; MacMillan, Fitch-Fletchly, Hopkins, Rivers and Malone. The boys were curious and friendly, although, admittedly Fitch-Fletchly, whose first name was Justin, was a bit of a dick.

Harry's bed was near the window in the circular room, his trunk at the foot of his bed. The bed was a four poster in mahogany with the customary golden-yellow comforter folded back, ready for him to slip into bed if he'd like.

Instead, he removed a pen and paper from his trunk and began writing.

* * *

_The rest of the sorting had gone on without notice- Harry Potter not in Gryffindor? Everyone was turning to gawk and whisper, and the Slytherin table was sizing him up already. The other Hufflepuff's didn't seem to know what to think of the attention the table was getting, and they all shifted nervously. Harry ignored the stares to the best of his ability-he pretended that they weren't happening at first, before finally forgetting about it, acting and thinking of it like Jim would have; like he deserved the attention._

_Cedric pretended that nothing was happening as well, instead introducing him to his friends, a boy named Oliver and and a girl named Maxine-Oliver was rail thin and sickly looking but had a quiet smile, and Maxine had a loud laugh and a solid build. "Oliver's the chaser for the quidditch team," Cedric introduced._

_"Not for long-not if you've been practicing anyway." Oliver laughed, "besides, I don't think that I'm trying out this year-I've got my NEWTs after all. I'm not the best student to begin with." Oliver was so relaxed as he said this it made Harry stare._

_The chatter in the hall died as Dumbledore finally stood and raised his hand. He smiled warmly, his eyes twinkling. "I have a few words, before we all gorge ourselves on the magnificent feast of the evening. Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!" Harry raised an eyebrow and looked around; only the first years seemed bothered and confused by the odd statements, the older students seemed nonplussed. That was disturbing in itself._

_"Hey, Cedric?" The boy turned to look at Harry. "Is Dumbledore mad?"_

_"Oh, yes. Potatoes?" Cedric offered, and Harry realized (silently cringing at the lack of observation; Christ, Jim was going to **kill** him if he got soft) that the once empty golden plates and goblets were now teeming with food and drink._

_Jim had never spared money when it came to Harry's needs or wants, and certainly not his own; Jim was proud of his Hedonistic tendencies, really, but Harry had never seen so many of his favorite foods on the table at one sitting; roast turkey, fried chicken, mint jelly and lamb- the smell is so overwhelmingly delicious that Harry feels like he's starving, despite having just eaten._

_He tries a lot of new food and drink at dinner; Jim and Seb weren't exactly food conneasseurs, so while they did eat well, it wasn't like there was much of a difference in their diets, not unless they went out of the country for any particular reason. In which case, they sampled the foods native to where they were located, but it was so infrequent for Harry to be brought along that he didn't develop very many favorites (Harry really didn't have very many favorites to begin with, not that he realized it; Jim wondered if it was a lasting effect of his time with his previous 'family', or if Harry was just like that-in the end, it didn't matter, though, not to him)._

_As dinner began, the housemates all began talking amongst themselves-this talk turned to family rather quickly. Harry only half wondered if it was because they were curious about him, but as they didn't keep sending him sideways glances, or encourage him to speak, he figured his paranoia was really getting ahead of him-he blamed Jim._

_He listened to his year mates talk about their home lives, eating slowly and being careful to take mental notes. Susan Bones was raised by her aunt after her parents were killed by Death Eaters 10 years ago-her aunt worked at the Ministry of Magic, and was often busy, but she had been Head Girl of Hufflepuff in her day. Justin Finch-Fletchly had been down for Eton until he'd gotten his letter and a visit from Professor Flitwick, the small teacher up at the high table. That gave Harry pause._

_"So Hagrid didn't come to explain to you?" Harry interrupted, making the table look at him._

_"No, Hagrid isn't a teacher." Susan explained, Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes-did they think that he was naive?_

_"I'm aware that he isn't a teacher, but I wasn't sure that it was standard treatment or if it was something else. Now that I know, I'll be filing a complaint with the Board of Governors."_

_"Isn't that a bit harsh?" Hannah Abbott asked, Harry shook his head._

_"Hagrid forgot to give me the knowledge to get on platform 9 3/4; if I had been any other muggle-raised student, as I was supposed to be, I wouldn't be here tonight. On top of that, he also said some rather disparging comments about several houses, giving me a jaded view on things-what if I'd listened to his opinions? I wouldn't be here." The look of pride on his housemate's faces was worth that tiny manipulation-though it wasn't a lie._

_"Where did you find out about the train?" Oliver asked._

_"My family lives several blocks from Diagon Alley; I've spent the summer exploring the wizarding world and getting my questions answered." Harry explained._

_"Well, at least you didn't have any trouble." Oliver offered easily, but Harry could see that he was rather disturbed by the prospect._

_"What about your family, Harry?" Hannah asks carefully; everyone looked at her in surprise, and she blushed, but Harry appreciated the clumsy tact._

_"I was raised by my Dads. Jim and Sebastian Moriarty. Jim's a businessman and Seb's his right hand-we travel a lot." Harry said, shrugging. This was the preapproved story that Jim had told him to tell-there were other details that he could add if need be, but that was enough to satisfy the group for the moment._

_"It sounds interesting." Justin commented-Harry smiled, and the conversation turned to other, safer things._

_Dinner was a pleasantly drawn out affair-in spite of himself and his efforts to try and remain neutral about his housemates, Harry found himself feeling almost affection for some of them. They were all so sweet ad charming, it was impossible to not like them. He thought even Jim would be hard pressed to find something unlikeable about them._

_The older Puffs pointed out teachers and what they taught, giving their own observations and tips on how to survive classes (apparently McGonagall was tough but fair, so don't mess around, turn in your work, be on time and make an effort and she would treat you with respect; Flitwick was intense and passionate and understanding-he forgave the occasional late homework assignment and tardy on the condition that he knew you were putting the effort into class; Binns was impossible to listen to so don't slack off on the studying; Sprout was a gentle soul with a will of iron who you didn't want to anger but definatly wanted as a teacher and a friend, who loved her job, her students and her subject; Hooch was intense and intimidating and put up with no nonsense; Quirrell...was a bit of a joke-be nice to him and make sure that you study; Snape...scary as hell, don't slack off, if you've got a chaice between doing your potions work or even transfiguration, potions gets the first priority, but for Gods' sakes don't let it come to that because he can smell a shoddy job a mile off-no pun intended-be ready to be embarassed tomorrow, he makes a show of it the first day of the term), which Harry was rather thakful for...until he happened to glance up at Professor Snape and happened to catch his eye._

_Snape, he remembered, was a death eater that was pardoned by the Wizengamont and vouched for by Dumbledore. He was ugly, no denying it-greasy hair and a beaky nose and pallid complexion that looked both unhealthy and frightening. If you weren't raised by Jim Moriarty._

_Finally, after the meal was finished, and **more** food appeared, dessert this time-though all kinds as well, and everyone was sleepy and struggling to stay awake, Dumbledore stood again._

_"Welcome new students and returning students, to another wonderful year. I'd like to invite you all to join me in singing the school song-everyone just pick your favorite tune and jump in!" Dumbledore flicked his wand and a ribbon materialized above him in dawn pink, without further ado, the ribbon unfurled and formed words._

___Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,_  
 _Teach us something please,_  
 _Whether we be old and bald,_  
 _Or young with scabby knees,_  
 _Our heads could do with filling,_  
 _With some interesting stuff,_  
 _For now they're bare and full of air,_  
 _Dead flies and bits of fluff,_  
 _So teach us things worth knowing,_  
 _Bring back what we've forgot,  
_ _Just do your best, we'll do the rest,  
_ _And learn until our brains all rot._

__Everyone finished the cacophony at different times, but that didn;t stop the god awful noise of hundreds of mismatching tunes all singing together. As Jim would have said, jokingly and in private, "Bach would be appalled." The thought made him giggle._ _

__Finally, the hall settled in again, and Dumbledore began announcements (why the hell would he wait until they were about to drop off to sleep to do this? No one would be able to pay attention when they were so full and sated). "On to other matters. The Forbidden Forest is, of course, forbidden to students. First years are reminded that they are not allowed to possess broomsticks. Fanged Frisbees are now on the list of banned objects- to see or inquire about the list and it's contents, please contact Mr. Filch. Finally, the third floor corridor is out of bounds, for any who do not wish to die a painful death. Now, prefects, if you will."_ _

* * *

Harry still wondered about Dumbledore's sanity-why would he wave such a blatant rule in the face of a bunch of curious, magically inclined teens? He thought about maybe hinting to Jim and Sebastian about inquiring at Hogwarts student death records, but figured that it would lead nowhere-as of now, Jim hadn't quite assimilated into the politico of the Wizard World, and doing so so early might cause problems.

* * *

Jim was meeting with a potential client when Hedwig brought the first letter from Harry (the fat little bastard about had a heart attack when the snowy owl appeared, soaring in through the window and displaying herself and the letter attached to her leg); the meeting was over immediately and Sebastian rewarded the postal owl with a well deserved treat while Jim began to read eagerly.

**_Dear Papa and Dad,_ **

**_Betting's over, I'm in Hufflepuff. Despite it's reputation, it's fine here; everything's a little too mushy for me, but they know how to balance between nosiness and care, even my year mates. Classes have been going on for three days now, and so far, Hogwarts is both everything that we did, and everything that we didn't expect. For one thing, there isn't a set building map, at least none that I'm aware of-staircases change, doors rotate, and of course the paintings change too. It's lucky that the older 'Puffs are so nice, they give you directions and take you under their wing (not that I need it; it's still nice). There's a poltergeist, too, named Peeves-I'm not sure what his system is, but he just seems to enjoy causing chaos for some reason-he tried to get me, but in return for temporary immunity I've been giving him harmless information about other students. It's fun-now he treats me like some sort of business partner._ **

**_I don't know what to tell you about classes-at least three are a joke! The Defence against the Dark Arts teacher, everyone calls it DADA, for obvious reasons, though, is a coward-he wears this gross turban and stutters so badly that we can't even get through lessons. Not that it matters, since you made me go through the book early, Dad. Of course, it doesn't help that I get headaches when I'm in there-whenever 'm around Quirell I get a splitting migraine. I blame the stuttering, it's driving me up the wall. Then there's professor Binns, the History of Magic teacher-first of all, he's a ghost. This, ordinarily, would be quite cool, however, when you add in the fact that he hasn't told us anything interesting yet, it gives you an idea of what I'm going through. Most other students are using it as a nap time, I've been doing my homework there. The point is, how boring can the history of something like...I don't know, MAGIC be? Very, if you listen to Binns. What's in the textbook is different though, as you know, Papa. Then there's potions-Papa, that man is the most impatient, unbelievable bastard that's ever walked the earth, no matter what you and Dad say about that Sherlock man or his brother, or even that two bit blackmailer, what was his name? Magson? He dresses in black sweeping cloaks like the bat man and doesn't even teach-he just writes the instructions up on the board and barks orders. He's so cruel, too-there's this one boy in Gryffindor, Neville Longbottom, that always loks like he's about to cry when he leaves the dungeons (classes are sorted by houses and year, so we don't have potions with the Gryffs) He doesn't like me either, according to the glare he keeps giving me-on my first day he tried to test me with fourth year potion's ingredients (name for wolfsbane and asphodel, where could he find a bezoar; everything that you drilled into my head, Papa), and then was furious when I knew all the answers. That's another thing-he just teaches us how to make the potions, not why; he doesn't explain reactions or anything like you do Papa, and you don't even have a mastery of the subject, like him! He tried to bully me the first day, but Justin Finch-Fletchly reported him to the Head Boy, who took it up with Professor Sprout. They must have had words because he has said anything to me since then, even if he keeps trying to look for fault in my work._ **

**_Professor Sprout is our Head of House; she teaches Herbology, and that's really fascinating. There's all sorts of plants in the Wizarding World, and a lot of them have consciousness, like the Venemous TanTacula. She teaches us how to care for and identify the plants used in potions and remedies; it's basically glorified gardening, but a lot more fun-I like it, even if it isn't my favorite class. Professor Flitwick teaches my favorite class, charms-sorry, Dad, it's impossible not to like the class when he teaches it-even if all we're really doing right now is wand movements. He's tiny; he has to stand on a box to teach so that we can see 's like Professor Sprout, totally fair, unlike Professors Snape and McGonagall._ **

**_McGonagall teaches Transfiguration,and despite what everyone says, she really does play favorites with the Gryffindors, her house. She doesn't award them extra points, though, unlike Snape, but she turns a blind eye to them, and a few of them are bullies. Not to say that there aren't others, but the type of bully seems to differ with the House-Gryffs will hit you, Slytherins will manipulate you and the 'Claws will make you feel so stupid that you just about do whatever it is that they want you to. I haven't seen any Puffs, though. Thankfully nobody's come after me yet, not that I couldn't take care of myself, you both taught me, after all, it's just the point of it. There's a buddy system in place in the House- the upper years are responsible for making sure that the first years know where their classes are located, and if they need help with work or anything (there's actually a couple of seventh years that are going to teach some of the muggle-borns how to improve their handwriting with the quills)._ **

**_Dad, I'm sorry that I doubted you about Hermione, she did buy into everything. She was sorted into Gryffindor, but from what I can see, she isn't making a good impression-she sits by herself a lot._ **

**_I made a friend on the train by the way, a Hufflepuff boy named Cedric-he's been introducing me to some of the older ones, and he asks about my homework alot. He stuck up for me when Hermione was trying to persuade me on the train._ **

**_Tell me when you guys decide what to do about Lily and James' wills._ **

**_Harry_   
**

Sebastian shook his head when Jim handed the letter over to him. Jim had the sardonic smile on his face that made him like, frankly, like a cross between the Grinch and the Joker.

"Have we decided what to do about the wills?" Sebastian asked, making Jim shrug.

"We're going to get them open if I have to gut the Wizengamont myself-the problem is should we do it now?"

"Eventually that bastard Dumbledore is going to come here." Sebastian pointed out, setting the letter aside on the mantle and then leaning against it.

"That to. Do we present ourselves as clueless or dangerous?"

"If we don't take care of custody he's going to try and take Harry back-the key word being _try-_ but the fact is that the Dursley's are dead. There's no hiding it. And we have Harry. He'll paint us blacker than we are if we aren't careful." Jim nodded in agreement, his eyes flicking back and forth as he turned the information and values over in his own mind.

"Dumbledore is used to commanding sheep. If we go into the ring swinging, he won't be expecting it, and it might be our only way to win. Without resorting to killing him." _Because that would attract too much attention,_ went unsaid among the two of them.

Finally, Jim jumped up, startling Seb just a bit. He walked over to Hedwig, who watched with wary but interested amber eyes.

"Could you deliver something for me?" Jim began. The owl almost seemed to smirk.

* * *

It's only several days later at Hogwarts, after a cryptic letter from Seb and Jim that Harry figures out what happened-Dumbledore was mysteriously absent, McGonagall cycled between looking slightly lost and like she about to have an aneurism-when the mail gets there. Including the newspaper.

Cedric is the one to show him the headline, which makes him laugh out loud.

**Sirius Black Innocent!**

**Potter Wills Unsealed, Reveals Shocking Failing of Justice**

_**After an emergency meeting of the Wizengamont yesterday morning, evidence was produced by one James Moriarty-Black that the sealing of the Potter Wills, advocated by Headmaster Albus Dumbledore of Hogwarts (Head of the Wizengamont, Order of Merlin First Class, Supreme Mugwump), led to the incarceration of Sirius Black.** _

There was more to the story, but Harry was laughing so hard that he couldn't read any more of it.

Cedric read on-raising his eyebrows as he did so. From what the paper said, Harry's 'Dad', James Moriarty-Black, was taking over from Sirius as Head of the Black family for time being, and was pursuing custody of Harry Potter through the official channels, despite protestations from several notable parties, including Dumbledore; many other families and houses were offering to take Harry in (including Lucius Malfoy and Arthur Weasley).

"Are you worried?" Cedric asked, turning the pages of the paper.

"No," Harry replied breezily. "Dad and Papa wouldn't let me go."

"Lucius Malfoy though, that'll be a hard one to dissuade from the courts."

"Eh. Weasley, though? Why are they offering?" Harry turned to look at him from peeling his orange. "Who are they, anyway?"

"My neighbors, actually." Cedric replied. Harry raised an eyebrow and Cedric reflected, again, that he'd never seen a First Year with such mature expressions-it was like he'd been drowning in cynicism and sarcasm since birth. "Several of them are in school now, all in Gryffindor-the red heads? You've seen them. There's seven of them, but two aren't living at home anymore, they've graduated already, actually. I used to play with the twins when we were little-when their mother let them."

"Let them?" Harry echoed.

"Molly Weasley is an overbearing, long winded woman with a horrible temper and too high expectations for her children." Cedric recited, grinning. "My mother says that. She plays favorites and puts so much pressure on Percy, the one with glasses-the tall one? Gryffindor Prefect? That's him-she puts so much pressure on him you'd think he was Minister of Magic. He used to be a lot like the twins-maybe not as vindictive, but Molly ruined him. Anyhow, she didn't like us all playing together often-said that the boys "have too many chores" or that she was "too busy to look after another child", it got to the point that my Mother wouldn't let me over there because of all the things she said about Hufflepuffs. She was in Gryffindor, along with Arthur."

"But why would they offer?"

"They're unquestionably on Dumbledore's side of anything. I heard that it was because he helped them with their bills in the past, but I think that it's just a rumor." Harry shrugged and risked a glance over at the Gryffindor table, first at the red heads,

The twins (Fred and George, Cedric supplies) seem to hold court amongst the rowdy crowd. Everything about them is loud and attention seeking-but laid back; notice if you want, but I don't care-the ultimate paradox. Their younger brother (Ron, Cedric informs) looks sulky, but has his own circle among the other first years (is it just Harry or was he looking at the Hufflepuff table frequently?)-Harry winced as he shovels his mouth full of food and keeps talking. Disgusting. The one in glasses, Percy, right, ate neatly and quietly...but spoke to no one. He sat so straight that it was almost like he had a steel rod stuck up his ass.

Finally, he glanced down to look at Hermione- like usual, she was sitting by herself.

He wondered if she regretted what had happened between them.

He felt bad that he didn't care very much. At least, not right now.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that everyone had a good holiday break, no matter what you celebrate. I for one, am enjoying my season 2 copy of Hannibal, and, wait for it, Star Trek movies I-VII. Oh yeah, I'm having fun. What better than a little cannibalism and sci-fi? Oh my god, someone write me a cross over with those two fandoms- I'd kill for some Bones/Will Graham, if someone could pull it off.
> 
> This was, actually, a really difficult chapter to write, mostly because I couldn't decide how to open it, or from who's pov it should be. In the end, I went with Fudge, mostly because I feel that he gets a little neglected. Please bear in mind that I have never in my life been to a custody battle or a serious court case like this would be, and if it's unrealistic in any way other than fandom, please contact me - it'd be great if someone had some insight on it.

 

Minister Cornelius Fudge honestly didn't know where James Moriarty-Black came from, but he debated on whether or not it would be appropriate to send the man a gift basket.

In one morning, he'd been responsible for not only finding the Boy-Who-Lived (admittedly, he'd had him the whole time, but Fudge was more than willing to overlook that little detail - it was Dumbledore who was pushing for punishment and for a new housing situation), but for saving him, and for giving him an opportunity to both right the wrongs of his predecessor and take the credit for it! Bagnold deserved a gift basket too, matter of fact, all those possibly innocent men, sitting in Azkaban with dwindling sanity, and he got to play savior!

Crouch had become a recluse since the news broke about the trials, and Bagnold had taken a vacation, according to his secretary, and wouldn't be back for some time (most likely until everything blew over; Cornelius sincerely doubted that it would be very soon, however). Dumbledore, however, had mostly managed to stay out of the cluster that had ensued, though only just.

James Moriarty-Black stood before the Wizengamot with a smile and dark eyes that could only be described as 'burning'-his smile was slightly unsettling. He had the Black eyes, and the smile; the smile that could have frozen fire if you were on the receiving end of it.

"The Wizengamot is called to order, summoned to unseal the wills of the House Potter. Presiding is Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge." Dolores stated, the uproar dying down; Dolores' voice had that affect - while it wasn't the most pleasant to listen to, it certainly called attention. "We have been summoned by one, James Black; does he stand before the Wizengamot?" The small man raised a hand lazily, raising an eyebrow sardonically.

"That would be me," he intoned.

"The Potter Wills were sealed on November the 7th, of the year 1989, by the request of Albus Dumbledore." Cornelius nodded to Dumbledore, who smiled kindly and stood up, his twinkling eyes glancing down at Mr. Black and through him, in that irritating way of his.

"The wills were sealed on my request because of the fear of what would become of the Potter assests, Mr. Black. It was a dangerous time- Voldemort," there was a collective shiver, "had just been vanquished, the auror department was in an uproar trying to find his followers, the Ministry itself was not secure. Imagine what would have become of the Potter's wishes should a Death Eater gotten hold of the estates, or even the location of Harry Potter-"

"About that," Mr. Moriarty interrupted, "do you know where he resides, Headmaster?"

"Harry lives where he is safe and protected from the Dark, and from damaging publicity. For now though, that place is at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, which is under my protection." Dumbledore replied, coldly.

"Yes, but where does he live the rest of the year?"

"I am not at liberty to say."

"Because you don't know, do you?"

"Pardon, but the issue is not Harry Potter, but the wills, is that not so?" Amelia Bones demanded, bringing attention to the point-she was a shrewd, honest woman with a fierce disposition and a clear definition of what was right and wrong.

"They are one and the same, I'm afraid." Mr. Black stated, "the sealing of the Potter Wills not only led to the abuse of Harry Potter, and the near death of him, on multiple occasions, but also to losing him."

There was a general uproar as several wizards and witches proclaimed what foolishness the idea was, however with a look from Mr. Black they fell silent. "I'm afraid that my full name has not been announced to the Wizengamot- I am James Moriarty-Black. Harry Moriarty has been my son for several years, since the death of his maternal aunt, uncle and cousin, all muggles- who, I might add, were severely abusive."

The look on Dumbledore's face was absolutely murderous. His eyes had lost that twinkle and had darkened considerably, and Cornelius thought that he could see the old crackpot's hand twitch - for his wand, possibly? Oh wouldn't it be wonderful to haul him in on an attempted assault charge.

"You kidnapped him." Dumbledore began.

"No, sir. I rescued him. I have with me reports by several doctors and photographs taken that prove Harry's abuse. I found him in the hospital, nearly dying from the injuries he sustained, and I protected him. I took him home, I gave him a home. He's happy, and now it's come to our attention that, not only was he not in possession of access to his vaults, but he wasn't allowed to know the extent of his wealth or his poverty as the case may be." Mr. Black extended the documents in question, surrendering them when they were taken.

Cornelius, as Minister, was the first to see them. He was ill, looking at the blatantly exposed rib outlines, the stick thin arms, the protruding shoulder blades. The plethora of multi-colored bruises. The ancient eyes. Fudge didn't need to read the reports all the way through to know that the boy that had come under Black's care had been abused, he saw it and knew. As the photos and reports were passed around, Fudge measured the surprised gasps and whispers.

"How, Mr. Black, does this refer to his abuse?" Dumbledore asked quitely-the rage had faded, but Fudge still saw anger.

"Because with the wills sealed the Wizengamot was unable to place Harry Potter with his rightful guardians, instead, placing him with a family who treated him a slave. If this could have happened, what else is hidden in the Potter wills? What else has been sealed for the 'greater good'?" Mr. Black looked directly at Dumbledore as he said this.

Cornelius thought that he could feel the room's temperature drop another 20 degrees.

"If this is true," Amelia began, looking at Cornelius, "than Mr. Black is correct. It would be in Harry Potter's best interest for the wills' unsealing. Enough damage has been done to the boy already."

"You cannot be considering this, Cornelius." Dumbledore implored. "It is foolishness- the boy has been harbored in secret for years now, by this man, whom we know nothing about. And yet, under his direction, you are considering undoing an act which was in the boy's best interest-"

"We haven't forgotten who it was that first persuaded us into sealing the wills, Albus." Amelia countered, her eyes flashing dangerously. Dumbledore scowled, but, seeing the angry looks shot his way, he quieted.

"Those in favor of unsealing the wills?" There was only one objectioner, unsurprisingly, and his name started with a D.

Fudge had been present when the Will was read, of course, along with Dumbledore and Black, as well as a large blonde man that Black had identified as Sebastian Moran-his husband, and Harry's second parent in the household.

The goblins had been compliant with the Ministry, and they had spoken to Brobdingnag, the goblin in charge of the Potter affairs. The goblin had seemed pleased that someone had finally decided to get it done.

Though he was ashamed of it, Fudge honestly had not paid attention until he heard the words secret keeper;

"...Name our Secret Keeper one of the best friends of James', Peter Pettigrew-"

"Wait," Cornelius jumped in, "what was that last part? Repeat it." Brobdingnag did as he was asked, and Cornelius had seen an opportunity to do right by a wronged man, and perhaps get a good bit of publicity in edgewise.

Fudge wondered just how such a pretty mess had fallen into his lap to be fixed, then decided that it wasn't worth thinking about, lest he jinx it.

* * *

Jim sat in the hospital chair at Sirius's bedside, looking calm and sure as a doctor ran scans over his cousin and conversed carefully with him- he'd spent nearly an hour with another doctor trying to find out the extent that Azkaban had done on his mind.

Frankly, Sirius didn't look very impressive-he was a shivering mess that kept mumbling to himself, and flinched at every loud noise and sudden movement.

"Honestly, Mr. Black, your cousin is lucky to have his mind." The doctor said, pulling him from the room, Jim nodded, putting his hands in his pockets. "I don't understand how he did it, but mentally, he's mostly there. He's severely malnourished lacking in vitamins, but physically, that's about all that's wrong with him. I should warn you, though, that he's still severely confused-even when he seems lucid, chances are that he'll not be so shortly. His sense of time is also very...conflicted-mentally he seems to understand that time has passed, but he can't get the idea out of his head that Harry Potter is still a baby." The doctor cleared his throat, "Mr. Black, I have to ask if you plan to reintroduce his godson back to him? As a healer, I have to inquire-"

"We haven't yet decided," Jim admitted, but the doctor looked concerned- excuse me, healer, that's what wizarding health officials called themselves.

"I must advise-"

"Thank you for your concern, but you can rest assured that Harry Moriarty will not be near Sirius Black without supervision. If you're finished?" The healer nodded, and Jim went back into the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Sirius, to put it frankly, looked absolutely horrible. He hadn't been cleaned up yet, and his eyes, as dark as Jim's but gleaming with a frantic light that Jim knew was likely madness. His hair was stringy and dirty, and his skin was sallow and sickly. Jim had found old pictures of him, and Azkaban had taken his attractiveness away.

It wasn't too long after that that Jim noticed something odd; Sirius would look at Jim from under that filthy mane of hair and flinch away. He as so thin that Jim mused he could almost hear Sirius' bones rattle together, if he paid close enough attention. But, it began to get annoying after a while.

"What's wrong?" Jim finally asked after the seventh time or so-it had really begun to grate on his nerves.

Sirius licked his lips and seemed to struggle to answer- but then, when you've been locked away from most human contact for 10 years or so, any man would lose the art of conversation, never mind the presence of the Dementors.

"You, you um, know about the d-dementors?" Sirius began, looking frstrated at his cracking voice. He had spoken so little for so long that he couldn't keep his voice steady. "You know what they do, in, ah, Azkaban?"

"They thrive on happiness," Jim replied promptly; he  _had_  done his research, after all. "And they remove souls at he Ministry's request."

"They take happiness." Sirius answered quietly, shivering. "Thoughts, memories. It's all the same. They feed on it, and leave your worst memories and thoughts in their wake. You relive things, that's your punishment. I've been seeing how I failed, heard my Mother scream abuse at me and my brother, and saw my father just...just watch. And, and you, you look just like my Father. Like the Black side of the family, especially him and that cousin of mine, Bellatrix-they stuck her in the cell across from mine. I've heard her...if she wasn't mad before, she is by now." He laughed pathetically. "And, and when you listen to that for 10 years..." Sirius' hans were trembling.

"I understand how difficult this must be for you, Sirius," addressing him by his first name was purely tactical; you didn't need to be a Holmes to see that Sirius had resented his family name long before his imprisonment, for it's implications, it's history, it's bigotry. But, everyone continued to address him that way. By using his first name, Jim made Sirius more comfortable, more trusting, "and for what it's worth, I'm sorry for everything."

"I'm out though," Sirius insisted, wildly, "I'm out, and I'm innocent, and everyone knows it. I can see Hary, can raise him. I can kep my promise to James." Jim expected this, knew it was coming, but the cold anger that washed through him startled him, anyway.

This was the tricky bit- Sirius was the variable of the equation. He'd always been changeable, others had told Jim this, but Azkaban had stripped him of what stability that he might have once possessed; he might be pleased that Jim had raised Harry, or he might fly off into a rage. However, because Sirius had been named Godfather by the Potter's before their death, he had more of a legal claim on Harry than Jim. Of course, in a custody dispute, it wasn't likely that Sirius would win-he might be the martyr but it couldn't be denied that he was in no state to raise Harry. But Jim didn't want to lose a possible ally so early if he didn't have to.

"Sirius, you have just been released from prison," Jim began gently; he really could have been an actor for how well he could fake a cajoling, sympathetic tone, when all he wanted to do was choke a bitch, "a place where you have been put under extreme mental duress for the better part of a decade. You have flashbacks, night terrors and in the last two hours alone you've gotten the years mixed up." Jim knew that this approach was working, knew he was having the desired effect on his cousin by the way the dawning horror accumulating on Sirius, but no wrath, good, good, "do you really believe that you're in any condition to raise a child?"

Sirius Black's face crumpled pathetically and he began to sob- a horrible gut-wrenching sound that was more animal than man. Jim watched as, before his very eyes, Sirius morphed into a large black dog- and a mutt, at that.

_An animagus? He must have done it illegally,_  Jim reasoned. The dog curled into a ball on the bed and continued to groan and whimper, still crying as a beast as he had as a man. The fur was just as dirty and matted as Sirius' hair.

Admittedly, Jim didn't care very much for dogs. He'd never had an issue with them growing up, but some years ago he and Sebastian had taken a consultation involving a scarlet ghost hound that murdered the evil property owners, this had been long before Harry's appearance in their lives, and this case had just gotten ugly from the beginning; incest, bought titles, ghosts, lost heirs- it was a cross between a Penny Dreadful novel and an American Soap Opera, and by the time that th job was over, Sebastian had gotten a broken hand and Jim had been forced to cross dress as the ghost of a murdered mistress, and even then, the client hadn't lived*. So no, Jim was not afraid of dogs, but you try facing 7 scarlet dyed wolves and not get twitchy around large mammals with fangs and the means to rip your throat out after that cluster.

Jim sighed and waited out Sirius little fit, but was annoyed when his childish cousin just fell asleep, after all tht trouble. Jim rolled his eyes and pulled the blanket over the filthy animal before going to fetch a haler to alert them about the development in their patient.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be longer, but I thought that ya'll deserved an update since you've all been so kind!
> 
> *-This was inspired by the adventures of Moran and Moriarty in the Hound of D'urbervilles by Kim Newman. I strongly suggest you either google or read it, as Irene Adler features in the book, curses, and a more in-depth glimpe into the characters that I've been fascinated with since I started reading Sherlock Holmes, before I saw the show.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the reviews everyone, glad you all liked the shorter post.
> 
> Admittedly, I had issues with this chapter too, because I kind of got lost in what route I wanted to take with Harry; I didn't know if I wanted to keep him neutral or have him strike out. I just might rewrite this chapter, because I don't really care for how this started.

 

It was Jim who talked Sirius into returning to Grimmauld Place, though only Jim entered the first time. Sirius refused to go, and was backed up by the healers at St. Mungo's, so Jim left Sebastian to babysit his cousin while he went to scope out the new home. It wasn't much of chore for Sebby; Sebastian and Sirius got along shockingly well, and Sebastian was trying to teach his cousin how to play poker, and also how to cheat. Sirius picked it up rather quickly, but he still wasn't up to Sebby's caliber, though Jim was certain that it wouldn't take long.

The house was a row house-Sirius had informed Jim that no one could see it, and the moment you got close with the intention of entering, the muggles and wizards around you fogot about you, or didn't notice-it was part of the fidelius charm that Orion Black had instilled when he'd built it up.

Entering the dusty front corridor, James was, frankly, unimpressed-Sirius had said that they had a house elf, but whre the bloody hell was he? What had he been doing for the last decade? Blast, what the hell was his name...

"Kreacher!" Jim called, stepping insie and shutting the door firmly behind him. he wallpaper was dusty and faded, only the floor was clean; it was almost at odds witht eh dust floating freely through the air.

With a small 'pop' the ugliest thing that Jim had ever laid eyes on appeared before him, scowling; it had faded gray skin and a long, thin, pointy nose, and large eye narrowed and clever and spiteful. His batty ears hung down and touched his thin shoulders, greasy gray hairs protruding. Kreacher wore no clothes, only a ratty tea towel like some sort of toga.

"You must be Kreacher," the thing grunted and sneered at him. Jim kept smiling pleasantly. "My name is James Moriarty-Black. I'm regent of the Ancient and Noble House of Black until Sirius recovers." Kreacher hissed with disgust.

"Blood traitor, scum of the earth! Mistress doesn't want him here!" Kreacher shouted, Jim shrugged. "And you, mudblood! You have no right to be here!"

"I'm a half blood Kreacher, now either show me around the house or I'll give you clothes." The elf glared sullenly and indicated that he follow. Jim stayed several steps behind and heard every muttered insult that the elf didn't bother to hide. Jim wondered just how the hell everyone associated with his family was on the unstable side of sane.

The rest of the house was just as filthy as the entryway, unfortunately. It was a shame, to- the house was large and extravagent, dark woods and symmetry and old age. Jim wondered how much it would cost to remodel the place to something that he liked; the house was so well protected that he, Seb and Harry could just move in without having to worry about anyone getting in. This could be their home. The final settlement. It was certainly big enough, too- over 8 bedrooms, not counting the studies and the library, as well as the basement levels (Jim had noticed that magical people had a fondness for building underground). The kitchen was so large that Jim could have hired a restaurant crew to make their meals (he just might do that, anyway).

Kreacher was proud of the house, though, or proud of his mistress. He showed off every piece of furniture, of art, relaying history and accomplishments of the portraits and the paintings (who jumped in with their own explanations as well, and followed the two of them through the house). As time passed, Kreacher seemed to warm to Jim, at least a bit, or maybe it was that Jim seemed interested in the family history. He was most eager to discuss Walburga, Jim's Aunt. Jim was, actually, more interested in his Uncle, Orion.

Dione, when she could be coaxed into describing her older brother, or even talking about him, would only say that 'he was the only one in that damned family who treated me as a person and not as though I was a bartering piece or garbage.' And with Sirius admitting that Orion and he looked similar, he was curious about him. When Kreacher finally brought him to a portrait, Jim studied it was rapt attention, looking for any sort of physical connection to the man he'd never known. It was startling, like Sirius had said; he had the same dark hair, though it was longer than Jim's, the same shaped face, nose, the dark eyes ('black eyes' as several people had whispered), the smirking mouth...all that Jim would need to do to take the man's identity would be grow a beard and let his hair grow out.

The portrait studied Jim as well.

"And you are?"

"James Moriarty-Black." The portrait's eyes widened a bit, and the aloofness faded some.

"Moriarty, you say?"

"Dione's son. It's nice to meet you, in a manner of speaking, Uncle Orion." The portrait nodded, before clearing his throat.

"You don't look like my sister."

"I've been told I resemble you." Jim smiled a bit, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"So I can see. What happened to Dione?"

Jim made a split second decision, "she married my father and mourned your world and family. She told me stories, taught me about magic, but she drank herself into the grave when I was a teenager." Orion nodded sadly.

"And you? I assume that you're magical?"

"Yes."

"Your Hogwarts House?"

"I didn't attend, unfortunately." Seeing the questioning look on Orion's face, Jim gave a short, polite explanation, "I never had bouts of accidental magic as a child. Mother assumed that I was a squib as well, so I was never enlisted or tested. I recently learned otherwise, and according to the ministry regulated tests, I'm at 5th year level of spellcasting." Orion nodded, sated for now.

"Welcome to my home then, James. If you'll please excuse me." Orion turned and walked out of the frame. Kreacher looked sideways at Jim.

"You are master's nephew."

"Yes, Kreacher."

"You be taking care of the House of Black instead of that filthy blood-traitor?" Moriarty nodded, amused. Kreacher seemed somewhat satisfied.

Kreacher had been left alone so long that Jim knew that just by being polite, even a little bit kind, would turn him towards them.

* * *

Harry had been expecting to get called into Dumbledore's office sooner or later after Dad had gotten Sirius out of Azkaban. Therefore it wasn't a surprise when Professor McGonagall pulled him out of potions to talk with the old goat. He was actually rather disappointed it took so long-though he wished it had been sooner, because, as it stood, Harry was afraid that he'd miss herbology.

McGonagall hadn't warmed up to Harry-but not for lack of trying. She'd been stunned and a bit insulted when Harry hadn't gone into her House, but she'd been willing to overlook that. If the boy was half James Potter, how much difference could there be between them? With that being said, she'd gone about the approach in the wrong way; talking to him about quidditch and about mischief had made no headway because the boy didn't like quidditch, and because he wasn't stupid enough to outright brand himself as a troublemaker (because as soon as he figured out how to slip the potion into a specific goblet, a certain bat was going to wind up with scarlet and golden hair that flashed neon). Harry found her an insufferable old biddy with such sharp opinions that he contemplated, several times, setting a dog on her, just to see what she'do.

That made the walk to the Headmaster's Office rather...tense. Harry didn't reply to any prompting on her part for conversation and didn't instigate any himself.

"Here, then." McGonagall stopped before a gargoyle, touching Harry on the shoulder. Harry fought the urge to recoil. She turned to the impressive looking gargoyle and announced, "cauldron cakes," in the same manner one might answer a question, while flinging her fingers out. Just as Harry thought she might have finally lost her mind, the gargoyle shuddered and began to twist up and around, revealing stairs. "Go on then, Mr. Potter."

"Moriarty." Harry corrected automatically walking past her and onto a step.

"It's customary to thank a teacher when she goes out of her way to get you."

"The Headmaster asked you, it wasn't out of the goodness of your heart." Harry replied-it was an insult, but placed as an observation. It stopped McGonagall cold, as if she'd been slapped.

Harry pretended that that didn't feel as good as it did.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore had on his genial grandfatherly act by the time that Harry finally made it up the steps and into the office. Other than Dumbledore there were two redheaded adults (a thin, gawky man and a rather dumpy washed out woman) and a man wearing worn out clothes, who looked pale and twitchy, but kind-he almost seemed to drink in Harry's appearance.

"Ah, Harry, my boy. I'm pleased you could make it."

"You had McGonagall pull me from herbology." Harry replied drily.

"Professor McGonagall, Harry. Please, I'd like you to meet Remus Lupin," he indicated to the twitchy man, "and Arthur and Molly Weasley." The woman was up and out of her seat immediately.

"Oh, you look just like your father! But you have your mother's eyes…" before Harry could reply to that (he was a bit stunned, actually-he'd yet to see a picture of his parents, and...well, that was a piece of knowledge that jim had yet to be able to find, or turn over to him), Molly Weasley had her arms around him and was clutching him to her ample chest.

"I've called them here, Mr. Potter-" And with that, Harry snapped a little bit. He was sick and tired of everyone throwing around a name that wasn't his.

"It's Moriarty." Harry spat, pushing away from the bawling banshee.

"Your given name is Potter-"

"But I've taken on my adopted father's name, Headmaster. All of the teachers have accepted his but you, McGonagall and Snape. If you insist on calling me 'Potter', I am going to insist on not answering. Are we clear?"

"You will not speak to the Headmaster that way, young man!" Molly Weasley shrieked, Harry just raised an eyebrow at her; who the bloody hell do you think you are? Harry wondered.

"It's alright, Molly. Mr. Moriarty," Harry noded in recognition, "we are here to discuss your living arrangements." Harry narrowed his eyes. "As you know, Sirius Black is your godfather-now that he has been released, he is receiving treatment for issues that developed during his time in Azkaban," meaning, Harry thought spitefully, that either he'd lost his mind or he's damn close. "In the mean time, I'd feel more comfortable with your staying with the Weasley's perhaps, or even Mr. Lupin; he was a dear friend of your father's." Harry shrugged.

"Albus thought that you'd like to know about your parents." Remus began, Harry shrugged again.

"I have parents. With all do respect, I didn't know the Potter's, so...trying to tempt me with knowledge about them won't do anything."

"Harry-"

"And furthermore, what right do you have to decide where I'm going to live, Headmaster?" Harry asked politely.

"I am your headmaster, I am responsible-"

"Not for my home life. Headmaster, with all due respect, my fathers took me in after I was dying from neglect and abuse. You were present at the court date when my father, James Moriarty-Black presented the evidence. If you insist on pursuing this course, I will contact my solicitor."

"Oh, please, Harry, we'd be so glad to have you in our home." Mrs. Weasley said brightly, touching his hair, only to have him back away.

Cedric had elaborated about Mrs. Weasley-about how she could scream and shout at her children loud enough that the Diggory's several miles off and a field or two over, could hear her howling at her children for some slight or another. Harry had no desire to be shouted at by a poverty stricken carrot top.

"If that's all, I'd like to get back to Herbology."

"Please, Harry, just-"

"If you keep on with this line of questioning than I insist on contacting my fathers."

Dumbledore sighed and waved his hand imperiously, only to realize that Harry was already on his way out of the office.

Molly Weasley harrumphed and sat down, crossing her arms. "What a rude child! I'll tell you this, that attitude will not stand in my household…" Remus looked like he was about to cry.

Dumbledore was thinking deeply about the words that the boy had said; how on earth had the boy met with Brobdingnag already? Wouldn't Hagrid have already...no, the half-giant had reported that the boy and his father had seized the vault key and had been gone for some time. Despite his best efforts, the goblins hadn't allowed him into the Potter vaults again, and that was before the hit his reputation took after the Sirius Black mess.

He decided to make it a point to investigate Moriarty-Black.

* * *

It's an accident, how Harry makes the quidditch team-hell, the whole day was a bloody accident.

It had begun as one of those days where the moment that Harry got out of bed things went wrong; Snape had taken points off at breakfast because Professor Sprout was ill in bed (and while, when she woke up, she'd find a way to give the points back somehow, it didn't make it any less humiliating to lose a couple dozen points because Snape didn't 'care for the way he was eating', whatever the hell that meant). Then, there was the fact that Sprout was sick-with a class canceled, McGonagall had panicked (second years and up, administration didn't mind that they had a free hour, but first years thy liked to keep busy) and just put the 'Puffs in that morning's flight class-with the Gryffs and and the Snakes.

As if it wouldn't be awkward enough to be in a class with his former best friend, the Puffs were no doubt going to be caught in the midst of the biggest house rivalry under Hogwarts.

From day 1, Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy had been butting heads-part of a generations old feud, from what Cedric could figure out and then report back to Harry. It only got worse when brooms were put into the equation-both of them were in the midst of telling lies about how narrowly they'd escaped being seen by muggle planes/helicopters/hang gliders, and everyone was buying into the nonsense. As Hooch gave them instructions, Harry glanced at Hermione and found her looking far worse than usual-her hair bushier than usual, her skin pale and tight. Harry wondered if she'd been eating.

"...Now, stick your right hand over the broom and say up." Harry caught the tail end of this instruction and did so, half surprised that the broom jumped right into his grip. But his was one of the few that did-not even Malfoy or Ron's was so quick! Hermione's didn't even move, and neither did Neville Longbottom's-most other's gave a twitch of some sort or even rolled a bit. Harry speculated that the broom was like a horse-it could smell the fear in most of their voices. And Dad had taught him about confidence.

"Now, I want you to put one leg over the broom, and on my whistle, kick up from the ground, hover a bit, then lean forward gently and land again. First, let me see your grip..." Hooch went around adjusting hands and complimenting sharply-knocking Weasley down a few pegs, along with Malfoy, when they tried to argue that the way they gripped was fine and hand't caused any problems in the years they'd been flying. When Hooch told them exactly what kind injuries they could receive if they landed hard, not even crashed, they did as she told them, looking pale and suddenly about 10 times more cautious than before.

Harry saw what happened in slow motion, almost-he saw Neville, pale and nervous, kick off the ground before Hooch could blow the whistle. He saw Neville panic as he got farther and farther from the ground, and forget how to land. Neville's panic was so complete that he froze, and began to slide off the broom, gently. Neville hit the ground at normal speed, and everyone heard the sickening 'CRACK!' that echoed off the grounds. Madame Hooch rushed forward from her own frozen state of mind to get a look at Neville.

Too little, too late, Harry thought to himself as she fussed. Hooch was pale as salt, making her yellow eyes stand out all the more on her thin face. Apparently Neville had a broken wrist but 'Madame Pomfrey can fix that up in two shakes, young man.' Hooch singlehandedly hauled the, admittedly plump, Neville up singlehandedly and began to lead him back to the castle.

"I'm taking him to the hospital wing. Everyone better be on the ground until I get back or you'll all be expelled faster than you can say quidditch!" She snarled over her shoulder.

Harry knew this couldn't be good as soon as the Gryffindors rounded on the Slytherins.

* * *

Pomona Sprout was not happy to be hauled out of bed when she was ill-a gentle woman, she preferred to let a little cold run it's course, rather than take a potion for everything. As a result, she had a splitting headache, a nasty cough, a high fever and a minor sinus infection. It was enough to delay her morning classes, at least. So when Minerva McGonagall began pounding on her door, one had to forgive Pomona if she was a bit more snappish than usual.

Especially when she saw her clutching one of her first years, Harry Moriarty, by the collar spouting off about his disobeying rules. She wasn't happy about it, but Pomona did let them in, so as not to cause a scene, as Minerva seemed to be intent on doing. After listening to her shout for a few minutes without understanding what in the bloody hell she was talking about, Pomona felt rather justified in shouting over her superior (to gain her attention, she would later tell herself, though she wouldn't deny the pleasure that she got in doing it).

"Minerva!" Pomona shouted, hacking up a large amount of something yellow into a handkerchief. It was enough to get her senior collegue's attention. Minerva managed to gain some semblance of control of herself, though she was still red as a beat, and began her tale.

"I saw your student make a hundred foot dive on a broom, Pomona-the boy, first of all, was not permitted to be on a broom in the first place, and second of all, he could have broken his neck!" Pomona took a deep breath and closed her eyes; she liked Minerva McGonagall, she did, but the woman could only be tolerated in small doses before she became overbearing.

"Harry, would you like to explain your side of the story now?" Pomona invited-the boy nodded and cleared his own throat.

"Professor McGonagall's right, Professor Sprout, I wasn't supposed to be on a broom; Madame Hooch had to take Neville Longbottom to the Hospital Wing because he had an accident, and she didn't want anyone to hurt themselves. But as soon as she was gone Draco Malfoy started makig fun of Neville, and Ron Weasley and the other Gryffindors started arguing with him. Draco had Neville's remembrall- he said that it had fallen onto the grass when Neville was in the air, but, honestly, he tried to snatch it this morning at lunch; you remember Professor McGonagall, you broke up the fight." Minerva sniffed and nodded. Harry continued patiently, "Ron and the other Gryffindors started yelling at Draco to give it back, and then the Hufflepuffs got involved-it looked like it was about to get rather ugly, you see- Hannah Abbott tried to get everyone to calm down and Ernie MacMillan tried to talk Draco into giving the remembrall over to the Gryffindors so that Neville would get it back-he did it while everyone was listening to Hannah, that way he wouldn't feel pressured."

"Smart," Pomona commented, ignoring Minerva's glare. She suspected that Harry had a hand in that plan, and it was only strengthened by the slight smile she got in return from the boy. She liked Harry, as much as she could like a student without favoring them, but she suspected that the boy could have done just as well in Slytherin as he could have here in Hufflepuff. "What happened next?"

"It didn't work quite as well as we thought," Harry admitted shrugging, "Draco thought that we were ganging up on him, and he shoved Ernie. I...lost my temper, and told Malfoy that he had better hand over the toy. He got on his broom and dared me to come up as well, and I did. We were pretty high up and Malfoy didn't expect me to actually follow, or to charge him-so he threw the remembrall as hard as he could, and I flew after it to catch it. I caught it about 10 yards from the 3rd story of the castle and then brought it back to class. Then Professor McGonagall came out and said I was in trouble." Pomona looked at Minerva.

"Why isn't Mr. Malfoy in trouble as well, Minerva?"

"Because I didn't actually see him in the broom-"

"Everyone on the field tried to tell you what happened." Harry chimed in quietly.

"Mr. Moriarty, 20 points from Hufflepuff for disobeying the rules that Madame Hooch set down. 25 from Slytherin for the same. However I believe that 5 points each for Miss Abbott and Mr MacMillan for showing bravery, 10 points to Mr. Moriarty for standing up to Mr. Mlafoy for those who could not defend themselves and 15 points to Gryffindor. Thank you, Mr. Moriarty, we will be speaking later, after Dinner, I believe. Go on, I believe that you have Potions?"

"Yes, Ma'am." Harry responded.

"Well, Madame Pince was complaining earlier to me about a lack of student help-I have something for you to return to her, inquire if she'd like assistance. I';; be speaking with Severus later and explain your absence." At his grin, she winked. "Go on then, off you pop." Harry ran out out, unable to stop grinning.

"How dare you, Pomona-"

"Where do you get off, Minerva McGonagall, putting your hands on MY students and ignoring blatant rule breaking to satisfy your petty need to soothe your ruffled ego?!" Pomona rounded on her; Minerva took a step back. Never before had she considered warm earthy Pomona frightening or intimidating, but that was exactly what she was at the moment. "Tell me, Minerva, was it your idea to put the Gryffindors and Slytherins in the same flying class? Or was that Dumbledore's? And the Hufflepuffs? Frankly, Minerva, what you just tried to do was unprofessional and offensive-I know that you're angry that Mr. Moriarty isn't a Gryffindor, but for God's sake, this is ridiculous! You had no right to put your hands on my student, and you are neglecting your obligations as Deputy Headmistress by ignoring flagrant rule breaking by Draco Malfoy. Rest assured, Minerva, I will be taking an interest in this and be speaking to my Puffs later, as well as your Gryffs, and if what Mr. Moriarty says matches up it will be handled. I will also report you to the Board of Governors if this happens again, do you understand?" Pomona, frankly, resembled a stampeding dragon, and Minerva wanted the conversation to be over as soon as possible.

But a small kernel of what Pomona was saying had made an impression and she felt ashamed; she'd let her own pride get in the way. She felt horrible and wanted to just go back to her quarters and think over what she'd just done.

"I see. I apologize, Pomona, I…" Minerva looked away. "I would recommend that, if what Mr. Potter says is true, that you go to Dumbledore about the First Year rule-the boy was a natural, Pomona, you must see it." Minerva slunk out of Sprouts quarters, leaving Pomona to just shake her head and wonder how everything in Hogwarts had gone to hell.

* * *

Of course Harry doesn't get in trouble because everyone tells Pomona Sprout what happened. Malfoy gets a month of detention, with _her_ , not with Snape.

Harry makes the Quidditch team when Pomona Sprout, on his behalf, threatens to sue Hogwarts for harm to a student by a teacher, as well as negligence by a teacher, as Madame Hooch was at least partially at fault for leaving them all alone in the first place. Harry congratulates himself for his slight manipulation of the system and considers it just that Dumbledore get his payback in this form after that spectacle in his office.

He feels no shame whatsoever when, shortly afterwards, a large package, that is of course, a broom, arrives for him at the breakfast table and he opens it-a brand new Nimbus 2000, straight off the line. It's lovely-and Harry can barely contain himself as he touches it. His housemates can't help it either.

The broom actually isn't from Jim, though he does send a letter along congratulating him and promising that he and Sebastian will come and see the match. The broom is a late gift from Sirius Black, accompanied by a letter, ackward and shy, asking him if he would like to start communicating and inquiring as to whether he might be able to come and see the match as well.

Harry replies of course to both.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay, folks, but after several problems at home and nearly cutting my fingers off at work, this was a bit more trouble than I thought it would be.
> 
> I struggled on how to start this, and then I realized I had forgotten one of the most important events of the book. The Troll. God Help me. My only excuse is that I was thinking too far down the line and a lot of shit has gone down in my home. Forgive me.
> 
> It also occurred to me about Neville, I love his character, and I realized that, despite being raised in a wealthy pureblood family, he knew next to nothing when he entered Hogwarts. And neither did Ron. And Malfoy, if I remember correctly, had a similar conversation Knockturn Alley. So that's where the coming idea came from.
> 
> I know that how I depicted the Troll Incident is a little far fetched, but it was similar in the movie (I thought that the book version was even more ridiculous, personally), where Hermione had no clue that the troll was present until she saw it. I get that she was emotionally occupied, but that's only gonna fly so far, you know?
> 
> Enjoy

 

* * *

Neville Longbottom has always been a nervous sort of boy- he's always compared himself to his father, because that's what everyone (especially Gran) compared him to and used as a scale of judgement. In his 11 years of life, he's never once measured up to that standard.

All his life, he's been in awe of his tank of a Gran- she is an idol to be worshiped, for her solemnity, her strength, her pride, and her utter surety, and to be feared, for the same reasons. Gran is the moon. Frank was the sun. Neville has always been caught in the shadow of a father he doesn't remember- at least, a father he doesn't remember sane.

When the sorting hat was on his head, Neville had begged it to please _please_ put him in Hufflepuff. Gran, his Dad, his Mum, all of his family, as far as he could tell, were Gryffindor; he'd grown up hearing of the glory of the House of the Lion, of their honor, of their greatness, and Neville knew he'd never fit in there. He's not brave. He's a coward with hardly any magic. He'd rather go into Hufflepuff, who he's heard takes the scraps and treats them well, than shame the Golden House.

But the Sorting Hat had only laughed.

_"If only children could see the inside of their own heads. If only you could see what I see when I look at you all."_

And then called out the decisive ** _Gryffindor!_** that set Neville on the path he would now have to walk. He'd been so flustered he'd forgotten the Hat was on his head.

He'd been welcomed to the table, and he thought, _I can do this_ , before the name Potter, Harry was called. Neville saw the boy walk up to the stool. The boy who'd advised him about the wand, and the one from the train. That was Harry Potter! Gran had told him about the boy, not the savior, the boy-Neville thought it was the only subject she could show tenderness about; "you two could have been brothers, Neville. And unlike you, he has no family." Gran placed a lot of stock in family. Neville didn't- family had nearly drowned him, had almost gotten his head cracked open.

Harry had a way about him that drew attention-it was something in the way that he held himself, steel in his spine. But something made you look away after a moment. He sat with hsi eyes closed, completely still, smirking every now and then. The Hall had been silent.

"He'll be in Gryffindor." Someone whispered, Neville agreed-the Boy-Who-Lived couldn't go anywhere else.

**Hufflepuff!**

Harry had smiled serenely and handed the hat back to McGonagall.

Neville had watched him walk away stunned at his nonchalance.

* * *

It was hard to make friends in Gryffindor if you were shy, Neville would reflect later. It almost seemed to be a prerequisite of Gryffindor to be loud- friendly was optional. Most of Neville's housemates paid him no mind, or were rather rude; their parents were what Gran called 'New Age'- witches and wizards, or muggleborns, who hadn't bothered to keep the old ways of etiquette that Neville had been fed from birth. The manners, while he hated them, were a safety blanket that he didn't know how to get rid of. So he stayed quiet. Except in class, when he messed up badly enough that either his peers or his teachers would say something.

But he couldn't stop watching Harry Moriarty- everyone knew him that way, except maybe the teachers, who still referred to him as Potter. Harry was polite about it though, correcting them with a quiet, but firm "it's Moriarty, not Potter."

Harry was bright, but quiet. He'd made friends with the older Puffs easily, and the younger ones, his own year-mates, naturally fell into step with him. Harry was a leader, and he didn't seem to realize it ( _or,_ Neville thought, struggling through his charms work, _he's not acknowledging it_ ). It was hard not to follow him, but before long, Neville had his own problems to worry about- namely potions, and his classmates. Gran had always kept him rather isolated, throughout his childhood (Neville sometimes wondered if it was because she was ashamed of him, but didn't think on the recurring thought for long); he knew the names of other major families, an their offspring, but he'd never had case to actually interact with them (save for parties, where he and several other children had been thrown together while their respective parents and guardians mingled, none of them knowing what to say to the others- and yes, Malfoy _had_ been among them, although he would deny it until his dying day), andas a result, this left him rather awkward and shy. Others took advantage of this, insulting the House of Longbottom and its weak scion within hearing range. He thought of his Gran when he heard this, and then of his 'hero' father, and finally himself-the Longbottom House had neglected itself, he realized, but said nothing.

Instead, he focused on his studies. Even the muggleborns, who knew next to nothing, knew more than Neville, which wasn't saying much. It seemed to Neville, the more that he looked around, the better prepared the muggleborn students were. The kids that had been raised in a magical household had shown up, some without listed supplies, were all struggling. The Muggleborns however were leading the classes now, even Granger.

Neville chalked it up to being _ready_ to learn-unlike the other children, they knew they would have no help, and so they came with the mindset that things were out of reach, but were attainable.

He admired them- they studied in groups together, laughing about things that Neville and the other Purebloods didn't understand, music and something called movies. He envied them, but he admired them, and he wished them luck.

* * *

It didn't take long for word to leak out that Harry had joined the Hufflepuff quiditch team-it took exactly 3 days; the news broke when Harry's new broom arrived, and then someone opened their mouth about it. Harry didn't mind, and thought it was amusing that it had taken so long.

When asked _why_ Harry was on the team, Harry had simply said: "the rules say that a first year may not **own** a broom, not join the team. And the broom isn't mine. It's my godfather's, he's only letting me borrow it." That answer was usually enough to shut them up.

Cedric was very proud of having Harry on the team, even though the younger boy had stolen his favored spot as seeker. He thought it was fine, because Harry was better, and he'd still gotten a spot as a chaser. Oliver had been right about not making the team, and while disappointed, held no grudges about it. It was one of the many things that he liked about his House.

Other Houses, however, didn't like it.

"Perfect Potter, gets to break the rules." Malfoy hissed, Harry had closed his eyes and taken a deep breath; Malfoy had been especially miffed on the subject, but Harry suspected it had more to do with his not thinking of the loophole.

"For the last time, Malfoy, I'm not Potter, I'm Moriarty." Harry snapped. Draco sneered, which looked especially impressive, particularly since he had such a slimy face anyway. He smiled, trying to seem less of a threat, "you're looking well."

Draco Malfoy had heard stories of Harry Potter since he was a little boy on his mother's lap. He'd been eager to judge the boy that his father was so interested in, but was disappointed when he'd been sorted into Hufflepuff. He'd written to his father that night, dismissing Harry, but in truth, he was starting to gain his attention again.

"They should be sending you back to your mudblood father."

"Careful Malfoy, that's your kin, too." Harry replied coolly, refusing to rise to the bait. Malfoy bloody well knew that Jim was a half blood. "I don't remember you being so confidant on your broom the other day. Must be because of the two monkeys you let tail you." Crabbe sneered and Goyle cracked his knuckles. Harry raised an eyebrow? Was that supposed to intimidate him? But then again, they hadn't grown up waiting for Sebastian to return from missions, covered in gore and still half wild with adrenaline and the thrill of a fight and succeeding in his mission.

"I could take you on anytime that I wanted!" Malfoy hissed.

"No you couldn't. You wouldn't like the consequences." Harry said blithely, before walking away from the annoying little imp.

The idea of what Jim would do to the Malfoy's for harming him was a source of entertainment for hours.

* * *

Sirius drank in every story and memory about Harry that Sebastian and Jim could tell him. He cringed at his previous environment (and just about looked like he was about to burst into tears), and wanted to know all there was to know about the boy. What was his favorite color? House? What about quidditch? Hobbies? Dutifully Jim and Seb told him what he wanted to know, and watched as Sirius practically pounced through the metaphorical hoops that the healers put before him.

Sirius had a goal- he was going to be well enough to see Harry's first quidditch match if it killed him, by God.

Jim thought he was doing better.

The healers were quick to ensure that Sirius wouldn't transform into Padfoot, as he called the form. Apparently, by transforming into an animal when he was upset, Sirius was doing damage to himself-as a dog, Sirius was cutting himself off from complicated emotions that were overwhelming him, and by not dealing with them, he was only putting more stress on his fragile and chaotic psyche. So, for the time being, Sirius was banned from transforming.

The first few days were, admittedly, very difficult.

Sirius had gone through a sort of withdrawal, alternately crying, shouting, and throwing things. His magic lashed out at random intervals. Jim thanked Christ, Merlin and various things that he didn't believe in that he at least didn't suffer delusions or hallucinations. Magic combined with things that aren't there? That would have been horrible, but then, the healers knew what they were doing.

Sirius' room was looking more and more homey as the days went on; Jim, at the advice of Seb, had begun bringing little things with him when he came to visit- little potted plants, books, newspapers, new clothes, or even things from the Black house that looked like it belonged to him. Sirius appreciated it, judging by the bear hugs the man would give him, anyway.

Unfortunately, Jim couldn't see his cousin _every_ day. Business as a 'legal consultant' and all that, have to make money somehow, Sirius. So instead, Sebastian was usually the one to keep half an eye on him, which worked out perfectly, as Sebastian was like a sounding board that Sirius bounced his ideas off of and chattered to incessantly. Sebastian would just nod and make a noise of assent or disagreement periodically. It was a method that he learned living with Jim after he went off on a tangent (the infamous idea about breeding hornets in their flat came to mind, thankfully Jim had returned to the land of sanity _before_ the eggs had arrived).

It was only a matter of time, really, before someone showed up at the hospital to visit Sirius.

Or, well, some _ones_.

First to come in was an attractive woman in her early 30's with thick dark hair and heavy lidded eyes. Sh was beautiful, but unassuming. She had lunged at Sirius the moment she'd seen him, wrapping her arms around him and crying, apologizing for not coming to his aide. Behind her trailed a young woman with rapidly changing hair who looked rather uncertain to be in the room.

Sirius had hugged the woman back, and smiled sadly.

"It's fine, Andy. Really."

The woman's name was Andromeda, and it turned out she was another Black, by birth, not name anymore, and her daughter was Nymphadora, but refused to respond to anything other than her surname, "Tonks". She had graduated from Hogwarts only the year before and was entering the auror training program, actually.

Andromeda was a friendly woman, she'd actually brought _tea_ in her bag ("expansion charm, insulation charm, things of that nature," she explained), along with actual food, like little finger sandwiches, and sweet things that belonged to the wizarding world that Andromeda had made by hand.

Sebastian was not ashamed to act like an animal, especially when good food was involved.

Seb hung back with Tonks as Sirius and Andromeda caught up; Andromeda had disobeyed her family's wishes and married a muggle. She had been disowned, but didn't really care. She worked as a kindergarten teacher.

They had stayed until visiting hours were over, and Andromeda left with a tight hug for Sirius and a handshake for Sebastian, with the promise tht she'd be back another day to meet her new cousin. Tonks was eager to leave as well, but still polite about it.

Of course the next day is when Dumbledoe came 'round.

Sebastian had met some quirky people in his life, that Chinese bloke that made a living off of black market plants, poisons and animals came to mind, as did the French cult group that were obsessed with the Parisian Catacombs, but he wasn't sure he'd ever met a man that was quite so odd. And the funny thing was, Sebastian couldn't put his finger on _why_ he was odd- but Seb knew never to doubt his instincts. And he was getting some really weird vibes off of the man.

Maybe it was the turquoise robes and the orange half moons. It could have been the overpowering scent of lemons that made Seb's nose twitch. Maybe it was that grandfatherly smile that was way to similar to that sadistic principal he'd had when he was still going to Eton. Who knows.

Behind Dumbledore came a raggedy looking man that Sebastian didn't like immediately. He smelled like weakness. He guessed that this was the other man that Harry had mentioned from that stupid meeting, Lupin or something.

"Sirius, my boy, how are you?"

Sirius watched the old headmaster, not speaking, not saying a word (during one of his lucid periods, Jim and he had had a discussion on what to do when Dumbledore came around- because he would, with no doubt- Sirius had insisted that he could keep his cool until they could figure out what the old fuck was planning). An interesting fact about Sirius that Sebastian had noticed was that he could be just as devious as Jim, but out of practice, and more harmless, generally). Sebastian sighed and folded the newspaper and stood up, stepping up to the visitors and holding out a hand.

"You must be Dumbledore, I'm Sebastian Moran, Jim's husband."

"Harry's other father." Dumbledore stated, he looked at Sebastian's hand and shook it hesitantly. It was just a breif hesitation, but it was there, and it spoke volumes. His smile was somewhat icy. "A muggle?"

Sebastian's smile was hollow. "Yes. Does that matter?"

"Mr. Moriarty," Seb didn't bother to correct him on the surname. "I assume that Harry told you of the incident in my office?"

"With all due respect, Headmaster, I really think that this conversation should wait until my husband is present. If you're ehre to see Sirius, thogh, I've no power to stop you." Sebastian replied smoothly. Dumbledore nodded.

"Of course, forgive me. I came to see Sirius." Behind him, Lupin stepped forward and locked eyes on Sirius, who hadn't removed his gaze from the man sine his skulked entrance.

Seb fell quiet and watched the interaction disinterestedly, Dumbledore was more interested in it, which was, in retrospect, quite creepy.

"Sirius." Lupin greeted, hoarsely.

"Remus."

The two watched one another in silence.

And then Lupin started to cry.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry that I ever suspected you, Sirius, I should have known. Should have known." _Christ,_ Seb thought, _how pathetic could a man get?_ If there was one thing that Seb was proud of himself for, it was maintaining his dignity. Granted, this was two friends reuniting after a war and the death of their best friend, so...no, Seb still thought that the man was pathetic. God knew what Jim would think about him.

* * *

_**Of course it was the Weasley twins who broke the rule on the 3rd floor corridor.** _

_**What exactly the redheads had been doing there, or planning to do, was never stated. For whatever reaso, the two had entered the coridor and unlocked one of the doors (some said the 3rd door on the left, by the suit of armor with the mace), and encountered a cerberous. The twins made it out of there, thankfully, scared out of their wits but intact.** _

_**They were caught by Filch and taken to McGonagall, who swore them to secrecy and docked a handful of points each.** _

_**Naturally the whole school knew about it by morning.** _

* * *

Halloween dawned and the whole school was chattering excitedly about the feast that night. Apparently, in a half perceptible nod toward the Old Ways, most familys had a special meal on Samhain, though they didn't give anything to their forbears or to the Earth. It was considered Dark to do so. Harry wasn't sure that was fair, but decided that he'd find an empty room and burn some bread and cheese for the ghosts that would walk tonight.

Cedric was one of the students who did something similar, as it turned out-he and his family offered up herbs and plants though. He wasn't sure exactly how the offerings were picked, but would look it up when he had time.

Or, so he meant to do.

Admittedly, Harry had been keeping half an eye on Hermione's doings, just to be safe. He wasn't proud of it, but preferred to think of it as a keep-your-enemies-close kind of things, rather than keeping-an-eye-on-a-friend thing. The point is, he watched Hermione isolate herself from others in Gryffindor because she was convinced she was right, and couldn't seem to fit into the school.

She was by herself more and more often, having scared away even Neville with her attitude problem.

Hannah Abbott was the one who informed him about Hermione crying in the girl's bathroom all afternoon, because Ron Weasley was an emotionally constipated fool.

Harry might not have given it another thought if it hadn't been for the fact that she missed the feast, which she'd been getting excited over that for weeks. Every year the feast was, supposedly, better than the one before, and this one was, to quote the Ninth, _Fantastic!_ Jack-o-lanterns floated above the tables, lit with candles that cast a ghostly glow about the tables. Live bats fluttered from place to place, while the ceiling exposed the full moon and unblemished cnostellations.

The feast was wonderful-pumpink pies, stuffed chickens, corn on the cob, food that was harvested at this time of the year.

Harry imagined that he could taste the magic in the air as the veil between worlds was thinned. An electric charge hung about him, and everyone, despite their good mood, almost seemed hushed about it.

Oliver, Harry noticed, was slipping food into his robe pockets surruptitiously. Oliver noticed his looking and explained, so quietly that his mouth barely moved, that he was going to offer some of it to his ancestors. The rest was for his owl, Daisy.

Everything was going fine, until Quirrell burst in, out of breath and in a panic.

"TROLL IN THE DUNGEON! TROLL IN THE DUNGEON!" He shouted, running up the aisles up to the head table. "Troll, in the dungeon." He repeated, an then passed out. Or, so he looked- Harry wasn't sure that was real.

He had half a thought that this was not the way to announce an emergency in a school, before everyone began to scream and panic.

"SILENCE!" Dumbledore roared, standing. Everyone went quiet-Harry couldn't help but admire the authority that he was projecting. One had to respect someone who could not only remain calm in a crisis, but incite others to follow the calm. Jim taught him to respect that.

"Prefects, please lead your houses to your common rooms. Teachers, come with me and we will assess the situation and take care of it."

And just like that, all respect was gone.

"Hold up!" Harry shouted, but everyone's attention was gone, focused on ' _holy shit there's a troll!'_ He looked for Elizabeth Demetres, but she was already hustling people into line and hurrying them out the door. Cedric had his hand on Harry's arm.

"Harry, come on." Hannah Abbott pushed, but Harry was busy, looking around for a teacher, or, or **somebody**. But the teachers had all filed out and there were only prefects- most of the first years were in an absolute panic, now that there weren't any adults.

Harry let himself be led toward the stairs, a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that he'd forgotten something. It hit him like brick wall.

Hermione.

Hermione didn't know.

There was no thought- Harry slipped into the shadows and darted off to the bathrooms, ignoring the worried shouts of his housemates.

It was easy to stay in the shadows of the torchlight. Harry had always been a fast kid, part of it came from actually having to _run_ from people, from his Uncle, from his cousin, from kids on the playground (and Sebastian- Seb had no desire o leave his son defenseless and, as soon as Harry was healthy enough taught him how to fight, how to take down someone bigger than him, smaller than him, faster, slower, things Seb figured out on his own, either in the army or in bar brawls or street fights in his younger days; Jim was the one to teach him how to use anything as a weapon- be it a pencil, a book, or even a nerf ball), and part of it came from urgency- Hermione was in danger, and damn it, he was concerned! He cared about her, he couldn't just cut her out completely. And even if he could, there was no excuse for letting her die, since no one seemed to care about doing a bloody headcount.

Harry, as a boy, had a vague idea of where the girl's bathrooms were (he noticed a very unpleasant smell, but just assumed that Filch hadn't been doing his job), but by the time he rounded the corner, someone grabbed him by the back of his robe and yanked him back.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Cedric demanded.

"What are you doing here?!"

"Elizabeth sent me to get you. What are you doing, there's a troll!"

"Yes, but Hermione Granger doesn't know about it. No one did a headcount- not everyone cuold have been at the feast, you know!" Harry shot back, tearing himself from Cedric's grip. "Besides, if the troll's in the dungeons why should the Hufflepuffs and Slytherins return to the common rooms? It's not safe."

Cedric blinked in surprise.

It sounded so obvious.

But maybe that was just because the 11 year old said it.

And then they heard screaming. And a roar that practically shook the hall.

* * *

It should be noted that though Harry ad Cedric's conversation was very brief, maybe a minute, but in that time, they had forgotton something very important. The girl's bathroom on this floor had 2 entrances. At the same time that Harry was explaining himself to Cedric, Hermione was exiting the stall- she was still upset with that bloke Weasley, but the smell, wherever it was coming from, was getting to her.

Somehow, she reflected, she'd imagined Hogwarts would be more, well fun. She was around people like her, she'd figured, people who were _special_ , who didn't hae to hide what they could do. But it wasn't like that _at all_. She wasn't aware of the social classes that were present in this new world, and had been unprepared for the social stigma that she was facing. She had believed that because she was willing to learn, to adapt, eager to know, people would accept her. But no.

_I'm not a nightmare._ She thought sullenly, wiping her eyes.

It hurt especially because she was just trying to help. He wasn't saying the spell right, he would have hurt someone.

She missed Harry, and she felt horrible that she had been so mean.

Opening the door and stepping into the light of the bathroom, she gasped. Hermione knew what a troll was- she'd been studying, of course, but that didn't actually prepare you for seeing one cornering you in the bathroom. It was huge, the color of boogers, though she hated to compare it to that, frankly, with a small head, large ears and thick lips. It arms were huge, almost dangling to the ground. It stunk, and Hermione knew that this was the source.

For one absurd moment, they stared at one another, and then Hermione began to shriek.

It roared, and swung the club the size of a branch (why did she keep comparing it to a tree? If anything, a mountain suited it better) at her. Hermione reacted on the instinct of her lizard brain and ducked. The club crashed into the sinks- porcelain, pipes ad water were suddenly everywhere. Hermione hit the stone floor but felt no pain (she had heard the whistling of the air, felt the swing disturb the hairs on her head), and began to move. Still screaming, though distant from the action, Hermione managed to scuttle into the stalls. The sickening crack as the club groke the top of them off was nearly deafening, and Hermione covered her head to avoid the shower of wooden splinters.

_I don't want to die,_ Hermione thought wildly, and kept crawling.

"Hey!" Over the noise, the shout was almost completely drowned out, but Hermione heard the voice and recognized it. "Stupid, over here!"

* * *

The troll didn't react to the shouting, obviously- so, like his father, he grasped a pipe about twice as long as his arm and twisted by the blow from the club, picked it up and threw the fucking thing at the troll's head. It connected with a 'thump'. The trol growled and turned around. Harry stood his ground, though his knees were shaking. Cedric carefully crept close to the wall, makin himself unnoticeable.

"Alright. I don't know if you can understand me, but what the hell, might as well give it a shot. You have multiple teachers coming after you. I suggest you leave. Because you're threatening someone important to me, and you will regret that. Leave, if you've got half a brain."

Hermione heard this and thought, _it's the size of a walnut, Harry_ , incredibly enough, before Cedric gently pulled her out of the wrecked stalls.

The troll growled.

"Oh come _on_. Is that supposed to be impressive? You can roar all you want, you aen't the scariest thing I've ever seen."

It took a step forward.

Harry drew his wand.

"Last warning."

The troll roared and Hermione shrieked, turning it's attention toward he and Cedric- the older Hufflepuff shoved her forward and shouted "Go!" And then they were running, Cedric firing off stunners and anything he could think of- Harry was doing the same (Cedric didn't think it odd that Harry's stunners were more dangerous, due to his father's extensive study).

Harry's mind was still ticking away rapidly as it continued to fight, but when it lurched after his friends, turning it's back on him, Hary got a running start and lept onto the thing's back, accidentally jamming his wand up it's nose. The troll screamed, and tried to pull the boy off, but Harry clung to him like a limpet. Moving when it's long arms tried to reach up and grab him.

"Do something!" He shouted at Cedric.

Cedric, thinking quickly but still remaining remarkably calm, cast at levitation charm on one of the sinks that hadn't broken and flung it at the troll's chest- the act threw it off balance and made it drop the club. That time he aimed for the head. The troll let out an odd grunt, and then just...dropped.

Harry, who had let go of the troll, had been on the ground almost directly below it.

He wasn't conscious long enough to even scream.

* * *

Severus Snape heard the Granger brat screaming and immediately rushed to find it's source. He found the Potter brat unconscious, trapped half beneath the troll with Cedric Diggory attempting to pull him out from under as the girl continued to cry. The boy's head was bleeding, his arm was at an odd angle, and if Diggory kept pulling him, Snape was sure that he would break something else (he was willing to bet that at least one leg was broken anyway if the troll had fallen on him).

The bathroom was an absolute wreck- there's water draining into the hall from burst pipes, the stalls crushed and broken into splinters. Dust cloaked the children's hair and robes, in the water it had congealed in places, making it a muddy mess. The stone floor in some places was crushed and buckled, probably from the troll's footsteps.

Granger couldn't stop crying, but made a valiant attempt to explain what happened and most of all that **Harry needs help, please professor Snape!**

Minerva was approaching, he could hear her hurried footsteps.

"Stop that, Diggory, you're going to kill him. Minerva," he said harshly when she gasped at the sight. "We must get Mr. Potter to the hospital wing." Seeing the sidelong glance she gave Hermione he amended that with, "we'll dole out punishments later. After they give us an explanation as to what happened."

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, which will be considerably shorter, admittedly, but will be posted much faster, will contain the much anticipated Dumbledore-Moriarty encounter.


	11. Chapter 11

Madame Pomfrey had been employed as the Hogwarts healer for nigh on 40 years, and in all of that time she had never been so...intimidated than by James Black and Sebastian Moran, Harry Potter's adopted fathers.

It had started out rather...different. The circumstances (a mountain troll in the school, what next? Dementors maybe?) were certainly unusual enough, and the boy's injuries, while certainly severe, were nothing that she had been unable to fix- a broken leg, a grade 2 concussion, several sprained disks, a broken arm and rotator cuff, as well as multiple bruising and several severe hairline fractures. Less problematic was a broken nose and 3 knocked out teeth. She'd looked at it as only physical injuries, thankfully, rather than magical ones (always more difficult to treat). His life isn't in danger, he's just badly injured.

In truth, she was more worried about Hermione Granger; the little thing had been in such hysterics that Pomfrey had given had had no choice but to first give her a calming and sleeping draught and then put her to bed in one of the infirmary beds. Mr. Diggory is in shock, but fine, so she sends him off to his own common room (she finds him later by Harry's bed, asleep, a new card hand made in the badger colors on the nightstand).

In all the time that she has healed Hogwarts' students and taken care of the staff, she has never felt the need to call a parent. Children get sick, after all, even magical ones. They get hurt. Accidents happen. The only time parents were summoned was, in the unfortunate case, of a student's impending death.

Therefore, it was quite the surprise when two gentlemen stormed through her fireplace.

The alarm was tripped at nearly midnight, signaling that someone had forced their way through the floo system, intruding into the Infirmary. Pomfrey, signaled in her private quarters, had immediately thrown on a nightgown and hurried to find out what they meant by this, and what they were doing here.

"You cannot be here, this is-"

"Where is my son?" The smaller one asks, and Pomfrey startles at the quiet fire in the words.

"Sir, what-"

"Harry Moriarty! Fought a troll like a little idiot? Broke several bones? Tell me where he is you cow or I will skin you and then shove you into a fireplace. WHERE?!" He was in her face as he spat this- Poppy had never been more afraid for her life in that moment, because beneath the threats was the fire was the utter calmness that told her that yes he would do these things.

"Jim." The other man admonished, and Jim stopped. He didn't move, his face went slightly slack, before drawing himself away from her and taking a deep breath. His face and calm recollected, and that frightened her.

"He's over there, in the corner, Mr. Black." Pomfrey whispered, pointing with an unsteady hand.

Mr. Black was gone that quickly, at his son's side- by then his face and head were mended, his bones as well. The boy was merely sleeping off his traumatic experience now, and some soreness.

The other man loomed over her, a deathly sort of calm etched on his face.

"Why is it that when our son is grievously injured in a safety oversight that we, the parents, were not alerted?" The man demanded.

"There was no need, the boy is-"

"What if he was allergic to something?" The man demanded, taking a step forward. "What if he had a medical condition?"

"I run diagnostics on a patient the moment that they are brought in," Pomfrey protested, "I would know if he had any sort of special care requirements-"

"You have no need to explain yourself, Poppy." Never had she been so happy as to see the Headmaster (of course, an alarm would have signaled in his quarters as well, she'd nearly forgotten), because, at the speed the man's head turned at the sound, she knew that she wasn't in so much trouble anymore. She was a chew toy, the headmaster was the meal.

"Yes she damn well does! Our son had multiple severe injuries, and yet we get no letter from the school. Instead, we get an emergency fire call from another student about the incident."

"As a muggle, Mr. Moran, I understand your concern, however traditionally magical parents have no such concerns. Magical children bounce back from injuries such as these- it even makes them stronger." Dumbledore smiled placatingly. "Now, which student was responsible for this unnecessary panic?"

"What you call unnecessary panic, headmaster, I call responsible actions." Jim interrupted smoothly. He walks over, and Sebastian shivers at the crackle magic in the air. Harry stirs, makes a pained expression and then drifts back to sleep. Jim, without looking away from Dumbledore says, "Tiger, go sit with Harry. I need to have a discussion with the Headmaster." Sebastian nodded and walked away.

"Perhaps we should continue this discussion away from the patients?" Poppy suggested quietly.

Jim and Dumbledore faced one another, neither blinking, neither backing down. Midnight eyes stared down noon sky, but neither was willing to look away. The time for weakness, for subterfuge, was not now. Now was the time to speak up.

"...yes," Albus finally replied. "I believe a conversation is overdue in my office. Please," And with that Dumbledore turned on his heel. Jim smiled poisonously, sent a cold glare to Pomfrey and then followed behind the headmaster.

Letting out a shuddering sigh, the healer turned back to the other parent.

Sebastian's cold eyes weren't on the same level as Jim's- not even close- but they were strong enough to make Pomfrey leave them alone. She retreated back into her office and poured herself a strong tumbler of firewhiskey, and then went back to bed. It was too late at night for this.

* * *

Jim took great pleasure in unsettling Dumbledore. Well, in anyone, but the man had a horrible poker face, especially when compared to Sherlock, but this was too much fun!

They'd entered the office, and Dumbledore had asked. Jim had merely strode about the office, picking up the still instruments that had gathered dust since Harry's disappearance.

"You must understand, Mr. Black, that what I am trying to do is for the greater good." Dumbledore began. Jim shrugged. "Surely you understand the dangers that your son will face if not properly protected?" Jim threw his head back and laughed. He'd had his back to the old man, and slowly swung round to face him.

"Do you want to hear a story, Headmaster?"

"Pardon-"

"It's a story about a wizarding thug who recognized Harry by his scar. We were at the park, Harry was maybe 9, when this man comes up to my son and stares. He walks away. That night he apparated into our kitchen, where my husband saw. The man pointed a stick, pardon me, wand, at my Tiger, and said something to the effect of 'I'll kill the brat for the Dark Lord'. Sebby then picked up the marble rolling pin on the counter and proceeded to beat him to death with it. It was shortly afterward that I found a charming woman in Knockturn Alley willing to ward our homes. She disappeared shortly afterward, though. Such a shame." Albus felt rather sick at the thought, at the easy way this man discussed murder. At the pride in his eyes.

"So please, Headmaster, don't insult my intelligence by preaching Harry's safety as cause."

"You are a monster."

"No. I am a father." Jim's smile was more vulpine than playful now, his teeth flashing in the light. "And I would suggest, Headmaster, that you would remember that a man will do anything for his child."

"Endanger others? Watch a world burn, even? Are you prepared for the weight of your decisions?"

"You just, you just don't get it! I wouldn't watch the world burn, Albus. I'd light the match. I'd say the spell. I've already killed for the boy. The weights to my decision because I don't give a damn."

Dumbledore sighed, and steepled his fingers. Where had things gone so wrong? "Mr. Black, if you place Harry under my care I can ensure his safety. He will be trained, cared for-"

"Oh no, no no no no no. You sir, have some nerve. After the Dursley's you will never have personal charge of a child again Dumbledore. You hurt my boy for the greater good, a good that doesn't matter. You've attempted to separate him from us, to isolate him. You've stolen from him. Now, now he's been physically harmed. I'm coming for you Albus. Not now. Not tomorrow. Not next week. But I will come for you. I will destroy everything you hold dear, ruin you, make your nightmares a reality, the usual thing. I would have left you alone, if not for this, maybe." Jim stood in front of the desk, eyes calm and cold. He shrugged at the lack of intimidation, smirked at the spark of surprise. "You don't have to believe me. But I usually make a habit of warning my targets, my personal ones anyway. Look up Sherlock Holmes. All I did to him. Know that you can't touch me. I've had years to prepare for this battle, old man, and Daddy's had enough of your machinations.

"Now," Jim said, smiling again. "I'm going to visit my son. I'm going to stay with him for a bit, make sure he's safe. I might even monitor him in school, attend his classes, make myself acquainted with his teachers, threaten a certain professor or two if necessary, for a couple of days. I suggest you not attempt to stop me. My husband will attend as well. Have a pleasant evening, headmaster."

Jim didn't turn his back on the old man, but backed away, maintaining eye contact.

Dumbledore waited until he was gone to turn to Fawkes. The phoenix watched him with disappointed eyes and then flitted out the window. Dumbledore felt his ire rise.

How dare that little half-blood disrupt his plans? Speak to him that way? Threaten him even! Things could not stand as they were. Things would change.

* * *

Harry woke up to the image of his fathers at his bedside. Sebastian was quietly speaking to Cedric, while Jim read a newspaper and drank his usual mug of coffee. As if this was a normal occurrence.

"Good morning, sleepy head." Jim greeted without looking. Harry grinned. He felt much better than last night.

He blinked.

Shit.

"Now what exactly possessed you to go after a fully grown  **mountain troll?** " Jim asked him quietly, lowering the paper to glare at his son. There were dark bags under his eyes.

Harry was in so much trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks! Hope you enjoyed this brief little chapter. Good news! I finally got around to getting a new computer! So I'll be able to work on the story more frequently. Bad news is that due to my finals next week I won't be very active. Sorry folks, but hey, wish me luck!
> 
> Next up is the infamous quidditch game, also Moriarty at Hogwarts! Le Gasp!
> 
> Let me know if you want to see anything else in the reviews.
> 
> Ciao!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! So, I've officially graduated high school, can I get a holla? Been hanging out with my Mom, taking it slow, hence the slow update (btw- I would seriously recommend everyone see the new Poltergeist movie, it's absolutely amazing and scary as hell; just be aware that they changed a lot of the details, so it's more like a new move then a remake, if you get what I'm saying, y'know?).
> 
> Turns out I qualify for some government programs for the first couple of semesters of college, so my classes are paid for, and I'm taking ones that I like!
> 
> Finally joined the dark side and got a Netflix account, gotta say it's worth the money. Started, and finished, a couple of short stories-always important. Rewatched the X-Men movies (they suck, but in a good kind of way), and found a glaring plot hole in the first movie, mainly that no one protesting the Mutant Registration Act brought up the parallels between it and the Nazis forcing the Jews to register and id themselves, because in reality someone would say it, and you know it, especially with a survivor as a mutant (I still like Magneto, even if he is a nut).
> 
> Moving on! Thank you so much for the comments on the last chapter, I'm glad everyone liked it, despite it's short length.
> 
> Please review!
> 
> Ciao!
> 
> PS- I've had some complaints about this but I figured I'd address it now. THIS IS A SLASH STORY. Before I couldn't put it up because Sebastian Moran wasn't in the character listing- now he is, and I've currently updated the relationship tag. THAT BEING SAID- there is some heavy flirting between Jim and Seb in this chapter. Now you know, so please don't complain about it in the comments- I get that slash isn't your cup of tea, believe me, I'm open minded, but you have a way to exit, and to back up, as well as scroll down. So, there, that's off my chest.

Hermione stood outside of the hospital wing, gripping a handmade card so tightly that it began to wrinkle. She'd woken up in the Gryffindor dorms that morning feeling sick with herself and worried about Harry.

Everyone had wanted to know about what happened last night, because everyone knew (Hermione strongly suspected the ghosts), and Hermione had never felt worse in her life- she wanted attention for her intellect, and admiration for her own accomplishments, not for telling about the closest she'd ever come to death. It made her feel cheap. And in the words of Clarice Starling, she largely preferred feeling afraid to feeling cheap. But she told her story, mechanically, as she thought about the last several months.

And then came to the conclusion that she was a bitch, and that Harry deserved a far better friend.

Somehow in the rush of this new world, she'd gotten lost, as her mother would say. Hermione felt so ashamed of herself, and cringed at the thought of what her parents would say if they knew about her atrocious behavior.

For a couple of hours she'd wallowed in self-pity, feeling pathetic.

Remarkably enough, it was Neville Longbottom who snapped her out of her 'funk'.

_"Are you going to thank him?" Hermione had turned to look at Neville and seen the plate in his hands filled with food. Her stomach growled and she blushed. She hadn't even realized that she was hungry._

_Neville smiled and held out the plate. It had her favorite foods on it- and it occured to her just how sweet Neville was, for all that people in the dorms called him a fool. This, she realized sadly, was how a friend should behave._

_"I don't know." Hermione admitted, taking the plate quietly, "thanks." Neville sat down beside her, and Hermione found herself just blurting everything out. "I want to, I feel so horrible, but why would he accept my apology? I was a nightmare, and a terrible person besides. I'm lucky that he's not the type to write your parents, or I'd never hear the end of it, along with never being allowed outside or to come back to Hogwarts again."_

_"But he didn't." Neville pointed out._

_"What?" Hermione started._

_"Harry- he didn't write your parents, or contact them to tell them what you were doing, did he? He just accepted it and moved on. But he came to warn you, didn't he? To make sure you were safe?" And with that, Hermione burst into tears right there in the common room. The plate went toppling from her hands to the floor, but she didn't care, oh God, what had she done? Neville patted her shoulder._

_"It's alright," Neville insisted, "you can make things right, he's still alive isn't he?"_

_"But what if he doesn't forgive me?" Hermione wailed._

_"Then you'll have to live with your mistakes." Neville admitted, before leaving her alone to think._

Once again she was having second thoughts, she felt tired and sick and all of a sudden the card looked so dinky and tacky she didn't know why in the seven hells she'd bothered with it.

 **Because** , her conscience whispered,  **Harry likes stuff like that- things that let him know you took the time to think about him.**  Hermione blushed, swallowed and entered the Hospital Wing quietly.

"Well, well, if it isn't Judas." Mr. Moriarty said, startling her.

Mr. Moriarty and and Mr. Moran (even though they were married, Harry's other father was content to keep using his 'maiden' name, said it kept confusion down in business transactions) were seated by Harry's bedside- and Mr. Moriarty was looking at her with nothing short of contempt.

Hermione had never been treated with anything but cold courtesy by Mr. Moriarty, now though, she was on the receiving end of his wrath. She deserved nothing less.

She couldn't even meet his eyes at first, she felt so bad (as she should).

"Good morning, Mr. Moriarty, Mr. Moran." She said quietly, neither answered. Harry was watching her, and looked surprised.

"Hermione, what are you doing here? You should be in class."

"One day of truancy won't kill me." She joked, lightly, but Harry still didn't look convinced. "I, er, came to apologize."

"Better late than-"

"No." Harry could only look in surprise at his father.

* * *

Jim could hardly believe it.

That little conniving whore.

How dare she.

"No." Jim repeated, turning to look at the little whore. "You have no right to come here and expect forgiveness."

"I don't expect forgiveness, Mr. Moriarty."

Jim snorted, "you really are an idiot." He watched as she swallowed nervously. "It isn't my place to fucking forgive you. Frankly I don't care about you, save for you've rejected my son as your friend and then endangered his life because you're a fucking fool."

"Dad-"

"Jim, you can't do this here," Sebastian reminded, squeezing his arm steadily.

"Why not?"

Sebastian leaned in close and whispered in his ear, "we both know you're more angry about the headmaster. This is a fucking hospital wing, Jimmy- don't give him a reason to throw you out; at least not a real reason." Jim breathed out through his nose and kissed his husband on the cheek.

"Thank you, Tiger." He turned to look at Hermione, who hadn't relaxed in the slightest. He raised an eyebrow at the fact she wasn't backing down- that was certainly new. Hmm. "Miss Granger, ultimately it's up to my son to forgive you. Just know that I don't like you, or approve of you."

"I understand, sir, believe me."

Jim decided to let the kids have their moment, mericfully.

"C'mon Seb! I want to meet this poltergeist Harry's brought up." The two walked past Hermione and didn't look at her again, thankfully, though the sensation of their passing still gave her goosebumps.

* * *

The Hospital Wing was so bland and sterile that it was ridiculous- it made every conversation awkward and boring, and it made already awkward ones impossible, really. Hermione sat in the newly vacated seat at Harry's bedside while he studied the card she'd made him (normally he'd be out of the Hospital Wing by now, but with his Dad so close and scaring the living hell out of Madame Pomfrey she was keeping him for the morning). It was impressive- Hermione, while not necessarily artistically inclined, had a particular eye for detail (obviously), and was certainly a well prepared planner with a flair for calligraphy.

"Thank you for the card." Harry said at last.

"It was the least that I could do, really." Hermione insisted, smiling faintly. Harry noticed she looked even more tired than usual. Hermione sat up straight and scooted the chair closer. "Harry, I'm so so sorry. I've been a complete and until-"

"Fool?"

"Try bitch." Harry grinned at her words and Hermione smiled back, gaining a bit of confidence. "You needed my support and I didn't give it. I was just so enamored by the glitter and the magic and the spells and...I forgot what was important, you know? I would like to be friends, if possible, Harry. Please?"

Harry nodded.

"Thanks for the apology 'Mione. I forgive you," Harry's smile stopped for a moment. "But, the thing is, I just don't know if I can trust you."

"Ha-"

"Let me finish," Harry raised his hand, stopping her words. "You're my friend. I can't change that- but you did stop talking to me because I didn't fit into a box that the Wizarding World tried to present me in, after  _years_  of knowing me and my background. I forgive you, Hermione, but you'll have to earn my trust back on your own and in good time. Is that fair?"

"Of course it is, Harry."

Harry grinned.

"Morning!" Cedric called as he entered the Wing- he'd been in the bathroom cleaning himself up for the last hour and hadn't had the chance to speak to Harry, thinking, correctly, that the boy would like to catch up to his fathers in person.

"Good morning Cedric. So, would I be correct in assuming that you were the one to contact my fathers?"

* * *

The concept of a parent at Hogwarts was so alien to everyone involved that nearly everyone turned to stop and stare at Jim and Seb as they tailed Harry through his day.

Jim, as usual, exuded an aura of power and indifference, backed by the dangerous air that trailed Sebastian like cologne. Jim didn't smile at anyone (though he did keep his viper's smile on as they walked), and many students shifted away from the group as Harry talked to them.

"So, where are we going?" Jim asked, Harry grinned.

"Herbology's first- for me, since I missed transfiguration this morning, and breakfast."

"You ate in the hospital wing!" Jim teased quietly, enjoying his son's indignant huff.

"It isn't the same and you know it, Father." Seb snorted.

"Ugh, you want to be around all these...people?" Jim's lip curled in disgust.

"Not everyone's an antisocial maniac." Jim smiled and turned smoldering eyes on his husband, putting a deceptively small hand on Sebastian's arm and squeezing, suggestively.

"Well not everyone's a homicidal firebug, Tiger." Harry looked ill, but not unused to the sight.

"Jim," Sebastian suppressed a groan and Harry mock vomited, making Jim snicker. "Save it for later, kay?"

"Whatever you say, Tiger."

"OKAY!" Harry interrupted loudly, making Sebastian smirk- the man reached into his pocket and pulled a cigarette as his son began to talk quickly and ostentatiously about herbology- everything that they'd heard before in his letters, as a matter of fact.

Fun fact- you didn't need guns or blood or blades to traumatize someone. Hell, you didn't even need to hurt them.

It was great being a parent.

* * *

Herbology really was pretty interesting from Seb's point of view.

Reading about the man eating plants and sentient things were different than actually keeping them alive (neither he nor Jim were good at taking care of plants, unlike their son, as was evidenced by the many pots of flowers, plants and shrubs that had died over the years before Harry took over their care), as Seb learned. He really admired the dumpy little thing as she taught. Harry was right- the bitch knew what she was talking about and certainly liked her job.

(Even if she did have to dock points from several Slytherins for fucking with the some of the Puffs, but not Harry, otherwise Jim would have walked out of the school with a snakeskin briefcase or two)

Harry didn't stand out in her class, but that was only because he didn't care to. Even so, Jim realized that Harry was one of Sprout's favorites. She called on him more often than others and called on them to look at his example, that kind of things, but nothing so obvious as you'd notice unless you bothered to look for it, like he had been doing.

That particular day the students had been learning about pruning certain plants with magical properties. It was important to note, for instance, that many cuttings of such plants could be used as parts of potions ingredients or certain rituals- Jim noticed how, after the word rituals, Sprout was quick to move on, not bothering to elaborate. Jim smirked.

Dumbledore's elevation to Headmaster had been the nail in the lowering coffin of traditional magics-his predecessor Dippet had begun systematically cutting out classes that were deemed to be Outdated or Useless, but after Dumbledore taking the Transfiguration position he'd also been cutting Dark magic, which, in timing, was right in step with the Ministry cracking down on it. Blood Magics, Traditional rituals, Etiquettes, even, were taken from the class charters. No one had said anything because many had yet to notice. With the rise and subsequent fall of Gellert Grindelwald, though, no one felt in a position to question him, and according to many, Dippet was a Firewhiskey drowned fool- an easy tool in the right hands.

Jim couldn't fault Dumbledore for his efforts, just his sloppiness.

(And his involving Harry, but that was neither here nor there- at this point they were one and the same)

After Herbology was Charms that day, but Jim and Sebastian stayed behind to speak privately with Sprout.

"It's a pleasure to meet you both," Sprout said, smiling warmly at them. "Harry's quite the boy, you know. I'm glad to see that he's alright- when Poppy informed me he was in the hospital wing I was rather worried. I meant to come and see him, but then I found out his parents had been called and thought it better to stay away for a bit. It's a pleasure to have someone so intelligent and polite in my House." She wiped her hands on her apron, "I meant to speak with you earlier, but there was a minor emergency involving the Venemous Tantacula and, well, time flies when you have fun." She chuckled. "What can I help you both with?"

Sprout, it seemed, also possessed that rare ability amongst talkative women. She had the ability to chatter, seemingly inanely, and slip what needed to be said within to be read between the lines.

"My husband and I," Sebastian began, "came to thank you, for your sticking up for our son about the Flying Incident."

"It was no trouble. Minerva...every now and then we all need a kick in the pants to bring us back to ourselves." Sebastian nodded.

"We understand," Jim interceded. "It was surprising that he accepted, though- Harry isn't too much of a quidditch fan, truth be told."

"Well, boys are rebellious," Sprout reminded. "He might have just accepted it to prove a point to Minerva, or even the headmaster." Jim took her word for it- she'd have more experience at averages in this category than him. What was especially interesting though was how this dumpy little thing could understand it so well- sure, everything had been covered by the rag the  _Prophet_ , but that didn't change the fact that many of those problems could have stayed between Jim, Seb and Dumbledore. She was clever.

But then, he wondered how quickly word of his and Poppy's screaming match could have gotten out.

"I suppose so." Jim said doubtfully.

Sprout just smiled.

"Your boy is something else. I knew his parents, you see- I didn't know what to expect with him coming here. Of course, word had gotten out by that time about Harry not living with his mother's family. Would we see another James? Or a passionate Lily? Instead, we get someone new. I'm glad that he's so happy, Mr. Moriarty- I've no doubt that anyone the headmaster would have picked would have brought up a second James Potter with daddy issues and a control complex. Maybe even a hero one. He's healthy, and he's happy, and that's what matters." The clock in the corner chimed. Sprout clucked her tongue.

"If you'll excuse me, I'm running late for a private conversation with another student." Sprout hummed as she packed away a few things into her leather satchel, before scurrying away.

"You know," Sebastian stated, watching her leave. "I think I like her."

"She's certainly interesting." Jim yawned. "Well, best be moving on- charms is what Harry said, I believe?"

* * *

Flitwick was amusing. Jim got the feeling that while the little man certainly  _liked_  Harry well enough, unless otherwise involved, he certainly wouldn't be taking any sides with anyone. A good teacher, he had nothing but praise for Harry, though he did bring up the boy growing bored and giving less effort then he should occasionally- Jim completely understood this, but promised to speak with his son about it.

Quirell was on Sebastian's radar already- after being in the army as long as he had, after seeing what he had, Sebastian had learned the value of his instincts and his body's initial reactions to people. If his instincts told him to stay back, he backed the fuck up. Quirrell had an air about himm that pulsed pure malice-Seb wasn't impressed, short to say, even if his mediocre teaching hadn't been a factor, but considering that the sonovabitch was going to be having almost daily and constant contact with his son, well, this was a fucking problem. Jim felt somewhat similar, though his 'get-the-fuck-away' meter was almost nonexistent, something about Quirrell's bumbling manner unsettled him. The hair on the back of his neck and arms stood on end when around the man, even when he was spewing generic compliments about Harry. They didn't stay long, needless to say.

That was the extent of Harry's classes for the day, so, while he caught up on his work, that left Sebastian and Jim to track down his other teachers and find out just where they stood on matters.

It was on the way to have a one on two conversation with McGonagall that the pair ran into the potions master, whom they knew from Harry's...colorful discription.

( _Black clothes that billow, greasy hair and voice, sallow skin and beak, I swear, he looks like something a mental patient would draw if you asked them who Batman is... as it is, half the students are convinced that he's a vampire (I sort of hope that that rumor's true, if only because it'll make things interesting. I'm thinking of wearing a cross to class next, or asking the House Elves to slip Holy Water into his goblet in the morning) while the other half are so burnt out that they drop potions as an elective the moment that they can._ )

Snape was everything that Harry vented about in his letters, topped off with an overbearing attitude that would have been unbearable had Harry not grown up in the same house as the Most Dangerous Man in London and his Pet Tiger.

"Excuse me," Jim called out, trying to be friendly, "you wouldn't happen to be Professor Snape, would you?"

Of course, Jim had done his background research on the man- unlike many of the other teachers that Harry mentioned, Severus Snape actually had a record of attending a public school until the age of eleven. His mother, however, did not. From what Jim's resources could gather, Snape was all that was left of the Prince line, an old Pureblood family that had had no male heir, who disowned their own daughter after falling in with a muggle.

Snape had grown up poor, in Cokeworth, coincidentally, very clse to the Evans' house. Jim wondered if he should bring this up, but decided to let the coincidence lie. With that said, Tobias Snape had been arrested multiple times for drunken disorderly and public drunkenness as well as multiple counts of destruction of private property and even a count of battery.

All in all a mean drunk.

Chances were, though, he didn't leave the violence at the bar fight.

Jim wondered if he should feel a certain kinship to the main's upbringing. The only difference was that James father didn't need an excuse like alcohol to hit his son or wife.

"Yes, and you are?" His voice was a drawl, deep and rich, and Jim idly wondered how difficult it would have been to get in the man's pants if he wasn't happily married.

Judging by those buttons, pretty damn hard, but then again, Jim always loved a challenge.

"James Moriarty, Harry's father. You call him Potter, despite the legal name change?" Jim smiled and Snape lost a tiny bit of the attitude. Not much, but enough.

"Yes." Jim had to applaud him- by not wanting to know what they wanted, Snape was instinctively trying to keep the power in the conversation. This only led Jim to have more faith in his suspicions about his family- growing up powerless had shaped the majority of his personality and outlook on life, a halfblood with no options, a largely unlikeable personality...it was no wonder he'd joined the Death Eaters, all things considered. "We're here to speak with Harry's teachers- as neither of us attended Hogwarts. I don't suppose that we could speak with you privately? In your office perhaps?" Snape watched them suspiciously before nodding.

"Fine. Follow me." The arrogant little sot twirled like a demented ballerina and marched away. Sebastian growled at the blatant disrespect.

"I don't like him." Sebastian whispered this on their way down into the dungeons.

"Neither do I, dearest."

"Give me a reason not to kill him?"

"You can't fuck me if you're locked up, Tiger." Seb had to give him that one. But he had a comeback. "You kill him here and believe me, you'll be found."

"You could get me out."

"I  _would_  get you out, for that purpose alone." The two of them snorted at the truth.

The dungeons were cold and clammy and moist- Jim wondered just how quickly the school would be shut down if they were required to maintain a truly safe atmosphere. How bad was the mold content? Jim made a mental note to have Harry examined by a real doctor when he came home for the holidays, and then told Seb to remind him about it. Sebastian was in total agreement.

Snape's personal office was a cross between something from a Frankenstein movie and a home library- there was a deep desk of nearly solid black wood, and bookcases on the back half. Half of the cases were filled with books of varying sizes and age, the others were filled with beakers of different sizes and shapes, of potions that weren't labeled. Could he possibly smell which was which with that beak of his?

"Cedric Diggory told us that you were the one to stabilize him last night- at least enough to get him to Pomfrey."

"Po...your son was not so badly injured as he might lead you to believe."

Jim sighed, looking crestfallen.

"I see. I was  _so_ trying to be polite. You know Severus- may I call you Severus? Good- I know things." Jim smiled nastily. "Now, here's the deal- because I'm so nice, thank being a father for that, believe me, I'm going to warn you, Severus Snape- you will get over your problem with my son.

"I don't care where you come from, or what your deal is. All that you need to know, Severus is that I know you. I know you and my husband knows you. And together, well, your Dark Lord is the least of your worries."

"You read the court transcripts."

"Of course. I make it my business to know people involved in my son's life, Severus. And you turned up almost immediately on my radar. Dumbledore vouched for you, gave you a job- which says to me that you know something  _special_ , Severus, and I intend to find out exactly what that is. Care to tell me? Or does Tiger here need to show you some of the things he knows about interrogation?"

Snape could only look at this small dapper man ( _another James_ , he thought morbidly, wondering if the name was such a curse or just a curse to him) and wonder just what in the hell had happened to his life that he was in the crosshairs of two, if not three, magical and manipulative men who were power hungry and ready to kill one another for their prospective beliefs.

Professor Severus Snape was far from a stupid man- he was intelligent, and he also, like the vast majority of Slytherins had a remarkable gift for self-preservation and knowing where the winds would blow.

Standing before this man, Severus knew that this is the true enemy- the viper beneath the porch.

"I was a double agent." He finally gritted.

"Oh beautiful, I'm sure that there's more to this stiry than that, so I suggest you make it interesting." Jim could only roll his eyes at the man.

"There's nothing more than that. I joined the death eaters because I thought that they'd win- and it looked like they might have, had Potter not been born."

"Ah, right there- see, therein lies another question, how exaclty is Harry involved? Why did your Voldemort come after him?"

"I cannot speak of it."

"You will speak of it, Severus, or we're going to play a game." Sebastian interrupted. "I like to call it 'Which body part do you need the least?' I find that it's a wonderful conversation starter." Sebastian's smile made Severus want to flinch.

* * *

Jim, frankly, didn't care about what happened to the professor, but, he had to admit, no one knew more than a spy did.

Really, that was all Snape was- a spy stuck on the fence posts, willing to go wherever it meant to stay alive.

Though, admittedly, Jim got the feeling he had other motivations, though not for Dumbledore or even Voldemort.

Walking back to the dungeons, Jim was  _very_ curious about the prophecy. About it's details, and about what exactly Dumbledore had in mind for his boy.

Once, Jim probably would have contemplated just abandoning the boy- so much trouble for such a little thing. A helpless boy, really. Was it really so long ago that he would have just gotten rid of his son? Jim could hardly believe it. He still has that instinct, that drive to keep ahead, stay untouchable.

But then he thinks of the emaciated child in his kitchen, frightened and alone. Of the boy who worked hard to know what could please his new parents, who had lain in bed sick and at the mercy of Jim while Seb was away, trusting but not trusting anyone, letting Jim take care him...of the boy who had taken to manipulation like a fish in water.

"What do we do now?"

"Well I suppose that it's time to find out a little more about prophecies."

* * *

Harry bids his family good-bye several days later. It's not exactly a tear-jerking farewell, admittedly, because the Hufflepuff/Ravenclaw quidditch match is just a week away. Afterwards is when he'll be meeting Sirius in person for the first time since he was an infant.

Jim, after speaking with Harry's teachers, getting to know the layout of the castle and even snooping around the library and getting to know Madame Pince (inspite of herself, apparently she rather liked the man). He got some inside help with a few spells that were a little father out of his reach, and some recommendations on where to look for advanced study.

"In case I don't see you before your match," Sebastian said, hugging the boy, "good luck, okay?"

"'Kay."

"Now, young man, just in case you haven't gotten the message; in case of danger, what are we- meaning you, of course- going to do in case of an emergency? For example, if there's a troll?"

"Not act stupid." Harry mumbled, turning to Jim. His father smiled and wrapped his arms around Harry's shoulders, pulling him close affectionately.

"That's my boy." Jim kissed the side of Harry's head and adjusted his glasses for him. "Now, you need anything, you firecall me. Understand? If Snape decides to be an annoying fuck, I want to hear about it- got it?"

"Yes, Dad." Harry mumbled, allowing himself to be petted- it should be noted that Harry tread a very odd line between wanting to be touched after years of it being avoided, and wanting to be left alone. It was an indeciveness that troubled the boy, but not Jim, who thought it only made him that much more interesting.

"Love you." Harry watched them disappear into the green flames of the Hufflepuff fireplace, and wished that they could stay longer.

* * *

It was shortly after his fathers left that Harry was finally approached by students who'd heard of what had happened with the troll but had been frightened to ask. Who could blame them, really, what with Sebastian looming like a bodyguard?

With that said, the first one to approach was the blonde Slytherin by the name of Draco Malfoy, the son of Lucius, who was on the list of people willing to take Harry in should the courts decide that Moriarty wasn't a fit parent.

AKA the little fucker that nearly got Harry in detention because he was trying to be impressive.

Malfoy has a sharp, pointy face (it would be attractive when he got older, if, perhaps, he ever learned to smile), and hair so blonde its nearly white. With that said, combined with his cocky attitude, he reminds Harry of Joffrey Baratheon/Lannister. All talk with nothing to show for it. At least not yet.

"Why go after the troll? She's a know-it-all mudblood." That was the first thing out of Malfoy's mouth.

And Slytherin's are supposed to be subtle?

"No one deserves to die by troll."

"She might have only been maimed." Draco scoffed. Harry found himself chuckling a bit.

"My conscience asked me to investigate on the off-chance she wouldn't be critically maimed."

Draco smirked.

"I believe that I owe you an apology from our flying lesson." Draco finally said, very quietly.

"I accept." Harry said quickly, trying to make it painless as possible for the boy.

"I would like to propose that we... start over, is that the... muggle expression? Malfoy, Draco Malfoy." The blonde snake held out a hand for him and Harry shook it politely.

Who knew, maybe the boy could be useful. He was decent in potions, if his marks were apparent.

"Harry Moriarty, better known as Potter, apparently."

"You know, Potter, this world is filled with unsavory sorts of people. I can help you."

Harry looked into Malfoy's eager, earnest face and felt a stab of pity- this was a boy who had  _aspirations_. One more Slytherin in a long line, continuing an old family name with nothing but generations of shadows from his forefathers guiding his decisions. His personality isn't even his own- a copy of a copy of a copy, handed down from his father, who probably wasn't even around.

He tried to manipulate, to emulate what his parents did, politics but had no skill for it- when Malfoy would fail, Harry noticed, he would fall back on his father's name for assistance.

The voice in Harry's head that sounds startlingly like Jim hisses that Malfoy is an amateur and his father is probably minor league at best.

"I appreciate you offer, Draco, but I'd like to judge for myself." It wasn't said with any malice or spite, but Draco still looks insulted.

"How dare-"

"Please don't be offended, Draco." Harry interrupts. allowing himself to look insecure and sad. Or, make Draco think he was. "It's just difficult for me to judge others on reputation. Isn't it better to find out first hand who's more interesting?"

Draco scrunched up his nose and Harry waited, pretending to pick at the cover of his library book.

"I understand your reasons," Draco finally responded, with forced civility. "I would appreciate your companionship however, no matter what your decision is."

Harry blinked for about half a second, before his brain kicked back in and he realized that Draco was trying to ask to be his friend in the most socially awkward way possible.

"Of course. I'd really like that, Draco. Won't your housemates object to having a hufflepuff hanging around?"

"They won't object if I tell them not to object." Draco promised, Harry laughed- both at the statement, and at how sure Draco sounded of this fact.

 _Only an idiot is absolutely sure of something._  Sebastian muttered to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy late 19th to me!
> 
> Enjoy and review lovelies.


	13. Chapter 13

The Hufflepuff quidditch match drew closer with every passing day, and Harry felt the first bloomings of nervousness in his chest. It wasn't crippling, admittedly, but it seemed that the majority of the school expected him to do badly- save for his housemates, who kept his skill on a broom a secret.

Despite the popularity of the Flying Class Incident, many had a misconception as to why McGonagall had gone ballistic, and no one who had witnessed the event bothered to correct it- they thought that Harry was in trouble because he didn't fly  _well_ , rather than just for breaking the rules (after all, Malfoy had been in the air as well, but hadn't been publicly humiliated).

Harry had been in no hurry to enlighten them.

Instead, he trained with the team as often as he could, and often alone. Cedric would throw objects of different sizes, sometimes enchanted to fly about, and Harry would have to catch them- they started with an orange, than an apple, a tennis ball, golf balls, and finally, they were down to wallnuts. Harry enjoyed the challenge this presented to him, and although it made him dirty and sweaty, he found sleep much easier after a good day of practice.

Although having previously claiming to NOT like quidditch, Harry decided that the truth was he didn't enjoy  _watching_ it; playing it was a different matter.

His fathers and godfather had promised to attend the match, and that made Harry happy, though nervous as well, because he didn't know how he was going to react with Sirius.

The man had been sending him letters since he'd sent Harry the Nimbus; his healer said it was good for him to be in contact with Harry, helped cement in his mind that he wasn't an infant anymore, and help him get his bearings. Sirius relayed to him all the details of his family, especially his father, that had previously been a mystery to him- and the small details that he'd never known about himself. He wondered if it was entirely goodwill, or if it was cathartic to the man; Harry learned that his first word was dog-dog, that he hated strained peas as an infant, but had a fondness for butterbeer (he was only allowed very tiny sips every great while, and without Lilly's knowledge), and also would snatch away wands from visitors who didn't bother to pay attention.

He learned that he once blew a hole in the kitchen wall on one of those occasions, and on another made bubbles that hummed his favorite lullaby (Sirius didn't know the tune; Lily had made it up for him, like many mothers, and it had died with her. Harry wished that he knew the song). He'd been a menace on his toy broom, chasing after people, knocking things down...

Harry, in exchange, told Sirius about himself in the now. He knew that Sebastian and Jim were filling him in on some of his experiences, but Harry told him anyway. He told Sirius his favorite foods, what sort of books he liked, his favorite classes. He told him about Sebastian and Jim; about what they were like as parents, and how he'd never wanted for anything in the slightly dysfunctional household. He talked about Cedric, and how things were going trying to mend things with Hermione (strained, but they were bridging the gap).He left out all the bad things that he could, not wanting to distress him, but Sirius read between the lines. With every letter, he sounded better; more...Harry would almost say 'like himself' but how could you use that wording for a man you hadn't met since you were 15 months old? Maybe saner? More stable? But the fact remained that with every letter made Sirius sound better.

Slytherin won the match against Gryffindor, barely, and the victory made them that much more cocky. They strutted about like they owned the school; but then again, with Snape canceling all the detentions given to them they might as well.

Draco Malfoy was much the same as the rest of them, but, admittedly, Harry's presence was a bit of dampener on his attitude.

Harry put up with absolutely no bluster where it wasn't warranted, and every time Draco puffed out his chest, Harry was quick to deflate it. Draco would pout and sulk, storm away, but eventually he would slither back to Harry's side, acting as if nothing had happened. Harry got used to it; it was almost endearing. What was less endearing, though, was Draco taking up with the rest of his housemates trying to psych Harry out.

In the week before the first match, Harry heard multiple variations of "you'll be fine" and "you're screwed". Several students offered to float a mattress beneath him for when, not if, the little bastards, he fell.

It made him angry.

But he put the anger on a back burner- being stupid got him in a lot of trouble with Jim. He didn't want to mess up again.

At least, not so soon.

* * *

Jim and Sebastian let Sirius drag them through the stands for a seat one morning towards the middle of November. Other parents are there as well, but noe look so nervous as Sirius Black.

Jim took another moment to observe his cousin; he'd put on weight, and lost some of the sickly look that had been a constant battle. He'd begun an exercise regimen at the approval of his Healers- a light one, to get him back into shape before he worked into what he had been before- but the road was long and hard. His skin was still shockingly pale, and his eyes still had dark bags, but the frantic, wide-eyed look he'd had had vanished by now, thankfully. Occasionally his hands still trembled, but Sirius walked with his back straight again, head held high, and looking for all the world like a man who was ready to face anything and come out on top. Unlike the rest of the parents, the Black/Moriarty family dressed in muggle attire, and they don't quell under that stares.

Sirius smiled and waved cheekily, Jim kept himself composed. Sebastian shrugged into his jacket and fumbled for a camera.

"Look at you, like all the other soccer Moms!" Jim cooed playfully. Sebastian scowled, waiting for the thing to turn on.

* * *

"Alright team, it's the first match of the season." Harry sat with the other members of the hufflepuff team in the locker room, listening to the opening speech. It was dead silent, solemn as a heart attack and stifling as a funeral. "We're up against Ravenclaw, and I'm glad to see new blood in the team.

"Now, Ravenclaw's got a good team this year-Fletcher's upped the ante as keeper, and Marrig switched to beater. But you know what? We've worked hard. We work well together. We've got the youngest seeker in a century," the team turned to look at Harry, "some of the best Chaser's in their years, and an impassable Keeper! Who thinks that we can win this thing?" The team stood and cheered, even Harry.

They marched into the blinding sunlight and cool fall air, into the noise of the stands.

* * *

"Just be glad that Hufflepuff doesn't face Slytherin right off the bat..." Sirius was muttering to Jim, Sebastian adjusted the zoom on the camera until the camera was taping one specific boy in a black and gold robe.

Sebastian smiled softly, watching as the teams approached one another. The referee, the flying coach, Madam Hooch, made the captains shake hands together.

The announcer is a third year Gryffindor by the name of Lee Jordan.

"Welcome," he boomed, in that cheerful, upbeat tone tat was exclusive to talkers, "to today's quidditch match, Hufflepuff versus Ravenclaw!" The stands boomed in applause for the two, the brooms were in the air!

Harry was just a golden blur he was going so fast. Sebastian's heart was in his throat as the boy zoomed about the field at, seemingly, the speed of light. A quick glance at Sirius and the man looked like he was just short of cheering like a five year old, or bursting into tears.

"He flies like his father." Sirius managed to choke out. Jim raised an eyebrow and rolled his eyes at the camera.

"Why is he going so fast?" Seb found himself asking- even the other seeker didn't bother at that speed.

"Because it makes him happy."

* * *

Harry loved this feeling; at practice he'd had to focus on catching things, he'd never been able to go all out like this.

He glanced down at the stands and saw them practically shake with applause.

_"...and the quaffle is shuffled between Mallory and Sisk- pair of queens those two, too bad they're taken-"_

_"JORDAN!"_

_"Right, sorry, professor. Oh, 10 points for Ravenclaw, scored by Dennis Kirby!"_

There was a resounding cheer from the stands, just as  _"Yitze steals the quaffle, Hufflepuff scores!"_

Harry drifted above everyone, watching as the other seeker flew aimlessly, searching for the snitch. This was an idea that Roman, the team captain had come up with- that way he could see better, or in the very least catch the glint off the golden exterior of it.

* * *

Sirius couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculous commentary from Lee Jordan- he'd gone to school with the boy's father; he apparently inherited his sense of humor and innappropriate remarks. What the hell had they been thinking making him announcer?

However, he couldn't help but notice that Jim was growing bored, and Sebastian was getting antsy.

"What's wrong with you two?"

"I don't care about quidditch." Jim answered shortly. "I'm here to watch my son dominate, and they've got him suspended in air waiting to make a move. It's a great idea politically, but seeing it in action is nothing short of  _boring_." Jim answered, making Sebastian snort at the horrified look on Sirius' face.

"You'll get used to the boredom thing." Sebastian confided. "His idea of entertainment is setting something on fire." Sirius laughed, not knowing quite how true the statement was.

But, the truth was, it  _was_  sort of boring, just waiting for Harry to do something. The thought made him deflate, just a tiny bit; once upon a time, he would have been out of his mind happy to be here.

But he was; he was  _free_. He was out in the sunshine, with his family, watching his godson play quidditch! But the quidditch game itself...wasn't as great as he thought it would be. As he'd imagined, while locked away.

It was wonderful.

But it made him feel hollow.

Grey spells like that happened at the most random time for Sirius- Healer Martell had explained that it was totally normal and to be expected. But Sirius often forgot just how bad they were until one actually hit him. And then it felt horrible.

* * *

In the end, it was totally Sebastian's idea, and he took full credit for it. He refused, for once, to let Jim have even partial credit for the idea, and, for the most part, it amused his husband. The memory of it was enough to make Sirius roll on the floor, dying with laughter.

It had begun when Sebastian noted that the Ravenclaw house had a cheer. It was short, it was clever, it was boring. But Hufflepuff didn't, not quite. Their support for the team was obvious, however.

The idea hit him like a bat over the head. Jim actually caught the look in Sebastian's eyes and the grin that practically split his face in two.

"What? What's wrong?" Jim asked, ignoring as Ravenclaw scored again (Hufflepuff was still leading by about 20 points).

"How many muggleborns do you think are in the crowd?" Sebastian asked.

Jim raised an eyebrow.

"About 75%. 20% constitutes halfbloods while the remaining percentile are purebloods." Leave it to Jim to have actually calculated it. "Why?"

Sebastian's smile could have lit up a bloody Christmas Tree.

* * *

Harry was drifting above the field (but where else could he be in the middle of a quidditch match), dodging several bludgers and keeping his eye out for the snitch, when he heard the noise.

**BOOM**

**Clap!**

**BOOM-BOOM**

**Clap!**

The sound of half a stadium rhythmically stomping their feet and clapping. Harry, and the majority of the Ravenclaw team, as well as Hufflepuff, practically stopped in midair to better take notice of what the hell was going on, though Harry had a feeling that he knew.

**_"WE WILL WE WILL ROCK YOU!"_ **

**BOOM**

**Clap!**

**BOOM-BOOM**

**Clap!**

**_"WE WILL! WE WILL ROCK YOU!"_ **

And in the middle of the crowd, on their seats, holding a banner transfigured from Jim's jacket, was a banner with a badger- the banner was in gold, and in great big black letters it exclaimed  **"HUFFLEPUFF KICK SOME ASS!"**

_"And it appears that the Puff fans have got some attitude this afternoon! Wonderful show of support for the team, and for the muggle band Queen!"_  Oh god, the looks of confusion on the pureblood's faces! Ha!

Just then, something gold flew past Harry's nose.

Without even thinking about it, Harry was off.

This was the righteous anger that he'd held at bay; all the snide little comments, the implications, the backhanded compliments. They roared in his ears as he took off like a shot- a golden blur to the crowd that practically rocketed among the other players.

The wind whistled in his ears, his eyes stung, he went so fast that everything was a blur. His eyes were locked on the snitch, instinct blocking everything out, Dimly he was aware of dodging other brooms, of the blue and bronze uniform racing behind him- but he was better. He was faster, he'd flown the pitch hundreds of times, he knew the Nimbus better than the back of his right hand.

And then his broom began to tremble.

Harry had a half a second when he realized that someone was trying to sabotage him- the Nimbus DID NOT tremble. He didn't know what was going on, didn't care, he was going to get the snitch if it killed him.

It was just within arm's reach.

The broom began to buck him and Harry took a leap of faith.

* * *

Jim's eyes saw the tremble and knew two things- someone was trying to kill his son, and his son was about to do something unbelievably stupid.

Sure enough Harry fucking leaped from the metal stirrups, using the momentum to propel himself out just as the broom began to buck and stall wildly, like a mustang. Jim's wand was out of his holster in a moment. His magic, a living, breathing animal snarling to protect his son leapt out on instinct, side by side with a shouted cushioning charm from Sirius.

(All the while Lee Jordan chattered worriedly, trying, unsuccessfully, to keep the panic down (smart kid- good instincts- Jim wondered if he had any plans to make a career out of this; the boy had more sense than the teachers who were running down the stairs like chickens with their heads cut off))

Harry fell, but stopped nearly 20 feet above the ground, suspended by Jim, who stood on his seat, panting and red faced, the tendons in his neck standing out like chords.

"Sebastian." His voice was strained but calm. "Go get our boy."

Calmly, the blond stood, packed up the camera and strode through the crowd, who began to panic and shout.

* * *

Harry's hands were sweaty as he stayed above the ground, unable to move.

Part of him was terrified to face his fathers.

The majority, though, was exuberant.

The snitch was in his hand.

The game had ceased, obviously, and he felt mildly embarrassed, waiting for Sebastian as his teammates crowded around him and cheered. Oliver had, helpfully grabbed the broom, which had ceased movement not long after Harry jumped.

Sebastian opened his arms and caught Harry easily, barely making a noise at the sudden weight (but then, Harry wasn't all that big- he wasn't skin and bones certainly, but he also wasn't very tall yet- Sirius said that it was the same way with James as well). He merely raised an eyebrow at his son, who didn't look in the least bit ashamed.

Harry, still in his father's arms, raised an arm in triumph, holding the snitch in his grasp, to the cheers of his team and his housemates.

_"Hufflepuff wins! Victory to the badgers! Victory!"_

"How much trouble am I in?" Sebastian snickered. He didn't put Harry down, still trying to believe that he was still there, in his arms, alive.

"So much."

"Shit."

* * *

"Someone put a curse on my son's Nimbus." Jim snarled. "I want their heads on a spike, the kidneys sauteed and their liver served on a plattter to a homeless man!" Sirius looked heavily disturbed by the threats that his cousin made, but Harry didn't look in the least bit bothered as he was examined by Madame Pomfrey (he had decided to let Jim run his tangent on the broom as long as he could, without comment, in the hopes that his father would realize that it would have been a life threatened situation in any case, had he stayed on the broom).

Sirius couldn't stop staring at Harry.

Harry watched Sirius impassively.

As Jim raged, Sirius and Harry timidly reacquainted themselves with one another.

"That was an amazing move, bambi." Harry grinned at his godfather.

"Thanks- all instinct really, no thought."

Sirius laughed. "James was like that too, scared us all half to death." Harry shrugged, it was always weird to hear about his biological Dad, and his Mom, for that matter; it was...he wished that he could remember them, as more than a flash of green light, but he didn't, and it felt cheap to pretend to grieve. But, at the same time, he wanted to hear as much about them as he could. Sirius saw the awkwardness in his face and coughed. "I'm sorry- he was like a brother."

"I know." Harry tried to be nonchalant. "Tell me more about them?"

And Sirius did.

* * *

Once Jim settled down (after threatening to remove Harry from Hogwarts; he was, however, pleasantly surprised when Dumbledore took the intiiative to start the examining of the broom before Jim said anything; apparently that little talking too was enough to get a fire lit under his ass, because he was having Hooch, Flitwick and McGonagall try and figure out just what the fuck had happened by tracing the magical signature), he noticed that his son and cousin were deep in conversation, holding hands.

"What did I miss?" He asked, sidling up to Sebastian, who was video taping all of it.

"Bonding."

"Boring."

"Tell me about it."


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus fuck, I'm SO SO SO sorry about the delay on this, I swear to God, I didn't mean for the next chapter to take so long, really, I didn't, but college got away from me, I had a minor existential crisis and got officially diagnosed with ADD which explains some of my quirks, and then they tried to get my dosage right- it doesn't work well with me, I'm better off without it- anyway, I had a lot of stuff going on, so sorry, please forgive me.
> 
> Please don't hate me, read and review?

 

* * *

Whether it was the fuss that Jim made or an inkling of how much shit he'd be in otherwise, the quidditch incident lit a fire under Professor Dumbledore's arse; it was he who took the initiative in the matter and called the aurors to investigate (though it possible might have only been to satisfy Jim into thinking he was doing something.

Jim admired the move nonetheless; for a Gryffindor, you had to admit that the old man could be very Slytherin when he wanted to be. If (in Dumbledore's mind, Jim suspected, it would be _when)_ the aurors found nothing, he'd be able to say that he'd satisfied the parents of the injured student and could make himself look more responsible. When something, in Jim, Seb and Sirius' opinions, was found with the broom, Dumbledore could make himself look even more responsible and claim that the threat had been handled totally.

Very crafty, the old fuck was.

* * *

Kingsley Shacklebolt was on the team of aurors that first came to investigate Harry Potter's broom; according to Dumbledore it had behaved very oddly during the match, jerking Mr. Potter about until he leapt off it and caught the snitch. Of course it was probably just some manufacturing error, but his adopted parents were raising her in the Hospital Wing and he wanted to wash his hands of it. And someone in the auror office, high up, owed him a favor. So there they were. They ran several diagnostic spells on the broom, and were a little surprised at the sight of several nasty jinxes used on it.

The jinxes led to a full investigation and the team split up- Kingsley and two others went to go question Professor Snape ( **everyone** knew he'd been a death eater spying for Dumbledore, but several of his old year mates remembered the feud that he and James Potter had, and were willing to bet that he'd let that hate live on in Harry); he'd vehemently denied any involvement having to do with the broom and and the boy, and, only after the first, and most recent trace of magic belonging to him came up, defended that he'd been trying to counter jinx the broom.

They'd been ready to arrest him then and there, but the next signature came up, the original perpetrator, which sent them into a confused panic.

Professor Quirrell.

In light of the...embarrassment of the Black case, the Ministry of Magic had been cracking down on arrests and detainments made by the auror department, meaning that while they could question the suspect, they couldn't just arrest him without probable cause. They could _hint_ of course, but not act on it.

So when they went to question Quirrell in between classes, imagine the surprise of the aurors when, seeing them and their uniforms, Quirrell had attacked. Kingsley's partner dropped before she could even register the bright green curse had hit her, she was dead. From there the remaining aurors had ducked for cover and Quirrell had continued his onslaught. By the time that Kingsley finally managed to bring him down, the rest of the team dead, the classroom was in total disarray. Desks had been reduced to pulp or were outright burning, and the dragon skeleton hanging from the ceiling was scorched as well. Windows were broken, the majority of the aurors were dead and Quirrell had been hit with an Avada Kedavra.

Just as Kingsley managed to get a grip on what had happened and made a move to fire call for backup, Quirrell's body began to convulse and smoke. Kingsley ducked behind a desk and managed to cast a shielding charm just as something that looked like smoke burst from the corpse in a ball of flame, it made a move to attack the auror, hit the shield, began to shriek and launched itself down the hallway, barreling into a group of first year Gryffindors and scaring the hell out of their Ravenclaw classmates.

* * *

Jim was torn between crowing with laughter and howling with rage **again** at Dumbledore.

"A possession?! He let a possession go on at this school! And not just by any malevolent spirit, oh no! No, it's the FUCKING SPIRIT OF THE MAN BENT ON MURDERING MY SON!" Several vases of flowers exploded around him, and with a vicious wave of his wand, he repaired them as he continued to pace. "This is unacceptable! HE'S A MENACE!"

"He wouldn't have had any way to know!" Sebastian admitted, looking up from the various papers that he'd gathered on the subject. Apparently after the first month, the victim of a true possession was unsavable- with the exorcism of the spirit, they would die as well. According to reports, Quirrell had been possessed for nearly two. There was no hope for him. "After so long the spirits intermingle, Jim."

"IT'S BULLSHIT!"

Though Harry had been discharged, Madame Pomfrey had allowed them to stay in the hospital wing for the moment (mostly because she was fucking terrified).

"He could have come after my son! He would have! I know it! WHY WOULD HE BE HERE! DAMMIT!" He roared, his mind whirling as both his husband and his cousin looked on, amused and interested. "Why would he be here? There must be a reason that the fucker is here!" Why couldn't he think of it? What was here?

Well what wasn't here? Magical school, impressionable children, idiot teachers, three-headed dogs-

"Harry sent a letter awhile ago." Jim said suddenly. "Some kids found a three headed dog in the third floor corridor."

"Yeah, a Cerberus." Sirius admitted. "I thought it was brilliant- a good prank, so long as no one's arm gets torn off." He blinked, suddenly catching on. "Cerberus was the guard dog of the underworld. They make good guard dogs anyway...what would it be guarding here?" He snarled, his face darkening.

"I have no idea," Jim admitted, twirling his wand. He finally turned and began to walk out. "But I intend to find out. You boys head home," he ordered, "I've got some business to take care of."

* * *

Albus considered the matter with Quirrell grave, but hardly unexpected. He'd suspected an attempt on the stone, but poor Quirinus...an unnecessary tragedy, all things considered. A brilliant student...he could've done great things...he sighed and turned back to his pile of inquiries. He'd managed to dodge a large bullet so far as the possession was concerned; had he not thought to call the aurors, things would've been much worse for him, indeed.

He sighed.

The stone was better protected nowhere else, Gringott's had proved it. And honestly, what were the chances of Quirrell making his way through _all_ of the defenses that the staff had put in place? It was nearly laughable.

With the Moriarty/Black household making an open stand out of questioning his way of doing things, more and more parents were feeling the need to get involved, and not just magical- muggle parents had found that their post offices kept a watch out for mail meant for the magical world, and so their angry demands and questions all found their way to his now quickly cluttering desk, and he felt an obligation to answer them.

He looked up at the sound of the staircase, only to see James Moriarty-Moran-Black entering looking enraged, his wand in a loose fingered grip at his side.

"Mr. Moriarty," he greeted, rising. Jim smiled.

"Dumbledore. Brilliant move bringing in the aurors- only reason you still have a job, I'd imagine." He chuckled, then clicked his tongue. Jim looked out the window, ignoring the phoenix that, for today, was in his prime. "I've a question for the _almighty_ Dumbledore." Jim rolled his eyes, beginning to pace.

"Ask away, my boy." His eyes still managed to twinkle, even now damn him.

"Well, Harry wrote home some weeks ago, you see, about the three headed dog you've got holed up in the school." Jim began, managing to stay calm. He hated not knowing something, almost as much as he hated losing. "Now, this escaped my knowledge, but dear Sirius reminded me that the creature, called the Cerberus, guarded the Underworld. **GUARDED."** He growled, running a hand through his hair. "Now, in light of the current situation, it occurs to me that _something_ drew Voldemort to the school, the school which, according to everyone, he avoided because of _you_." Dumbedore looked grave, and it did nothing but piss Jim off more. It seemed that everything the man did was pissing him off now. "Guards, spirits, secrets- what do you have here, Dumbledore, that drew him in?!" Jim demanded.

"Mr. Moriarty, it occurs to me that perhaps you are not in the state of mind-"

"He's going to come after my son." Jim stated, flatly. "I have every right to know, and every right to find out by any means necessary." He was still going to go after this old bastard, but he'd hoped to wait and let the man sit on it.

Albus shook his head, looking ancient. "The Philosopher's Stone."

Jim just stared at him, processing what he'd heard. And then letting the pieces fall into place. "You've...got the secret to eternal life...hidden in a school...with my son?" He repeated blankly, and then snarled, rushing at the old fool, forgetting, for a moment, that he had a wand, and found himself on the floor.

"Calm down, Mr. Moriarty." Dumbledore ordered, standing up.

"Why is it here?" He demanded, regaining his bearings, clearing his head.

"Because there is no other place safer for it." He admitted, "it was hidden in Gringott's, however after the vault was broken into (shortly after I removed it on a hunch), I hid it here. Unfortunately Voldemort found out. I am very sorry about this, Mr. Moriarty, but you should be relieved that he did no more than jinx your son's broom." He reminded. "Imagine what else he could have done, had he not been discovered so soon."

"He's going to come after him!" Jim snarled.

"He always was. Now you know that he is." Albus reasoned, somewhat coldly. In a war, all knowledge was valuable.

Jim couldn't help but think the same way.

He picked himself up off the floor, "thank you for your time, Headmaster." He said calmly, taking a deep breath, he left the office before he lost his head. It wouldn't do to die before he could set a plan in place for Harry- dear Sebby wouldn't know what to do.


End file.
